Gladius--Remastered
by MissLindaLee
Summary: A month has passed since the red kryptonite incident with Linda, but things are slowly returning to normal-just in time for the upcoming Valentine's Day holiday. Jimmy also finds himself distracted with what appears to be a run-of the-mill homicide...and decides to conduct his *own* investigation... (Tenth story in the remastered Angelica Corsusca series)
1. Chapter 1

_January 11_

Linda sat in her desk chair, leaning back and staring across the loft at J'onn—in his natural Martian form—sitting on the sofa; Streaky lay next to him, curled up, her eyes half-closed, purring softly as J'onn silently pet her.

"So, when are we going to start?" she finally asked, her tone laced with slight annoyance and impatience. "You've been here ten minutes, and the only thing that's been accomplished is my cat's gotten a back rub."

"I've been waiting for you to start," J'onn replied. "This is, after all, about you." Linda snorted as she folded her arms and looked to the side. J'onn just stared at her calmly, a slight twinkle in his red eyes, before he reached into a side pocket on his suit. He pulled out a small plastic package of cookies and unwrapped it; he took one from the cookies out and held it out to the young girl. "Would you care for one?"

Linda looked over and saw J'onn holding out a cookie toward her; she raised an eyebrow. "Are you offering me a Choco?" she asked.

"I am," J'onn replied. "Clark told me you've developed quite the sweet tooth since arriving on Earth—especially for anything with chocolate in it."

Linda opened her mouth, but as she glanced at the cookie—the aroma of the two chocolate wafers sandwiching a creamy center wafting into her nostrils—and the snarky remark she had planned to use didn't seem quite so important; she actually felt her mouth watering with tasty anticipation. Wordlessly, she slowly crossed the loft and sat on the far side of the couch; she hesitated a moment before taking the offered gift—and then quickly shoved it in her mouth.

"Thank you," she mumbled as she chewed in content.

"You're most welcome," J'onn replied, smiling a little as he took a cookie and took a bite.

"Have you always liked Chocos?" Linda asked.

J'onn swallowed. "Ever since I came to Earth," he answered.

"What was it like for you?" Linda asked, her expression turning more serious as the tone of her voice dropped.

"Frightening, at first," J'onn replied. "I had just...witnessed the loss of my family, then I brought to Earth against my will; I knew nothing and no one. I was scared, just like you, unsure if I would be able to fit into this strange new world and call it home."

"But you did," Linda pointed out, taking another cookie and nibbling on it.

"Yes, but it took time," J'onn said gently, "and it wasn't easy; getting others to trust me took the longest, but it did finally come."

"Yeah, but I bet you never flipped out like I did last week," Linda muttered.

"On the contrary," J'onn replied. "There was a time, about five years ago…."

* * *

 _One Week Later…_

Jimmy squeezed his eyes shut and pulled the covers tighter around him as the pounding on the front door resonated in his head; he didn't have a headache, but it was still early Saturday morning, and one of the first in a long time that the teenager didn't have to be anywhere. He knew his mother wouldn't be home until Tuesday (she was at the annual American Forensic Association convention in D.C.), so Jimmy had planned to spend the day aimlessly roaming the city and taking random photographs—after sleeping in.

Jimmy groaned loudly and threw back the covers as the pounding continued. "I'm coming!" he shouted, annoyed, as he got out of bed and angrily marched out of his room, muttering threats and colorful words loudly as he crossed the living room to the front door. He quickly undid the locks and yanked the doorknob as hard as he could, the door swinging open. "What?"

"You're an ass," Gar said, glaring at the photographer as he stood on the other side.

Jimmy was so caught off guard by Gar's appearance and blunt insult that the photographer's expression quickly morphed from anger into confusion. "What?" he asked, furrowing his eyebrows.

"You heard me, Olsen," Gar replied. "You. Are. An. Ass. And coming from someone who can actually change into one, that's saying something." He brushed past Jimmy and walked into the apartment. "We need to talk."

"About what?" Jimmy asked as he shut the door.

"About why you haven't talked to Linda since the whole red k thing," Gar replied.

Jimmy's face darkened. "I already told you, Gar," he said, "Linda's better off without me in her life to screw it up."

"How many times do I have to say 'it wasn't your fault'?" Gar protested. "You can't be blamed for something you didn't even know existed."

"You know it's not about that," Jimmy said angrily.

"I know what it's about," Gar replied, "and the fact that you **still** haven't talked to Linda about it after all this time is further proving that you are, in fact, being an ass."

"There's nothing left to talk about," Jimmy retorted.

"Aside from the fact that Linda's been depressed ever since that night," Gar responded, and he saw the flicker of concern in Jimmy's eyes as the photographer looked over, "or the fact that I'm pretty much the only friend at school who's actually talking to her right now because the rest of them don't have the slightest clue of what really happened, so they're still trying to process Linda's little 'mood swing.'" He knew Jimmy was listening, but Gar wasn't finished driving his point home. "Maybe I should mention that she hasn't done any art since then, or that her grades have been dropping, or that that she's been spending a few hours each week talking to J'onn about the visions and everything else under the sun so they can try to figure out what the hell is going on with her."

"Great, I've made her lose her mind," Jimmy muttered as he abruptly marched to the kitchen and pulled open the fridge. He grabbed a can of Soder Cola and opened it, gulping down half the contents before stopping; he belched loudly.

"Actually, she's not," Gar replied. "J'onn was able to get inside her mind and figured out the visions were actually implanted memories—by Rok-Var."

Jimmy looked over, startled and confused. "Come again?" he asked as he slowly walked out of the kitchen, his eyes staying on Gar the entire time.

"Look, all I know," Gar said, "is that J'onn thinks she saw something horrible and dangerous, and Rok-Var telepathically suppressed it and covered it up with fake good memories, but the barrier he put up has been breaking down since the cave-in; J'onn's helping her sort through it." He shrugged a little. "Even the rest of the League has actually calmed down about Linda being a potential threat and want to help her."

"Even Bruce?" Jimmy asked, raising an eyebrow.

Gar gave him a look. "Bruce is being Bruce."

Jimmy nodded. "Point taken."

Gar tilted his head a little. "You know," he continued, his voice calmer, "the real reason she's been in such a funk is because she's embarrassed and confused by how she acted—and that you've been avoiding her because you can't even stand to look at her any more." He saw the flicker in Jimmy's eyes as his jaw set, and Gar sighed. "All I'm saying is that you two need to talk this thing out—and the longer you wait, the harder it's going to be."

"Who says she'll even **want** to talk to me?" Jimmy asked, slightly defensive.

Gar reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his cell phone. "There's only one way to find out."

* * *

 _Almost Two Weeks Later…_

The air was thick with the stench of rancid water mixed with the unmistakable odor of human waste. Water trickled from side tunnels into the main corridor, mingling with the trash and other filth. The sewer rats—most of them the size of small dogs—scurried along the edges, trying to stay as dry as possible; their noses twitched rapidly as they scampered around, their noses twitching as they picked up the foul scents of rotting food.

The overhead lights barely shown farther than a few feet, but it didn't stop the young man from running as fast as he could, his leather boots slipping occasionally on the wet concrete. He tripped and fell, his cloak and pants soaked, but he didn't care as he quickly scrambled to his feet and continued running. Trying to remember where he was, he turned a corner, and he quickly skittered to a stop as his stomach clenched; even in the dim light, he could see the bricked wall as clear as day.

He was trapped.

Breathing heavily, he quickly pivoted on his feet and stopped short when he saw a familiar figure standing less than ten feet away. The young man wondered how the person had found him so quickly—and how he hadn't heard his approach—but the glint of the large sword in the person's hand caught the young man's attention. He swallowed, looking at the person's face.

"Look, I promise you, I won't say a word," he said, still breathing heavily, his heart pounding. The person slowly inched forward, and the young man took a step back. "You don't have to even pay me, okay? I won't say anything, I swear!" The person continued moving toward the young man as he backed up against the brick wall. "Please, don't kill me, you don't have to kill-"

The young man suddenly grunted and stiffened before a trail of blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. If he had had time to look down, he would have seen the blade of the sword stuck in his abdomen. He slowly tilted his head in disbelief; the person's eyes were hidden by a hood, but there was just enough light to make out the cruel smile on the shadowy face.

The person put his free hand on the young man's shoulder, almost in a twisted display of offering comfort, before he slowly backed up, pulling the young man with him. He stopped after a few feet and gripped his sword a little tighter before running it all the way through to the hilt; the young man couldn't see the exposed blade behind him, covered in his own blood. Wordlessly, the person quickly twisted the blade ninety degrees and withdrew it; the young man gave a final grunt before collapsing and didn't move again. Blood poured from the young man's stomach, mingling with the filth and dampness, as the shadowy figure turned and disappeared back into the shadows.

(End of Chapter 1)


	2. Chapter 2

The alarm clock buzzed loudly, and Linda groaned from underneath her comforter. She shifted and reached out absentmindedly to hit the snooze button—and heard the distinct crunch of plastic and metal. The teenager slowly peaked out and saw her hand resting on top of the remains of her alarm clock.

"Great," she muttered as she turned onto her back and shut her eyes, sinking back into her pillows and throwing the comforter back over her head; she made a quick mental note to go by Fordman's after school to replace the clock. All was quiet for a few seconds, then Krypto barked loudly, startling Linda so much she sat straight up in bed; she barely had time to look around before the white dog jumped onto her lap and licked her face.

"Good morning to you, too, boy," Linda said, smiling, scratching behind his ears. She wasn't too fond of her alternate alarm clock, but she couldn't stay mad at him for long.

"Linda!" Martha called from downstairs. "It's time to get up!"

Linda sighed. "I'll be downstairs soon!" she shouted back. She kissed Krypto's head before reaching over and scratching Streaky behind her ears. The cat yawned and stretched dignifiedly before sitting on her haunches and starting her morning tongue bath. Linda threw back the covers and quickly hurried over to her door and opened it; Krypto jumped off the bed and scampered out, while Streaky took a more leisurely time but eventually left. Linda grinned as she shut the door and switched into sonic speed.

Downstairs, Martha was busy at the stove, preparing a hearty breakfast of eggs, pancakes, and bacon; a fresh pot of coffee had finished brewing earlier, and a pitcher of freshly squeezed orange juice was chilling in the refrigerator. Jonathan sat at the kitchen table, reading the morning paper, his cow mug—filled with hot coffee—within reaching distance. He glanced up briefly as Krypto came running down the stairs, Streaky sauntering gracefully behind him; the two pets walked over to their pet bowls and sat down, waiting.

A few seconds later, a blue blur came down the stairs and zipped around the kitchen. Neither Jonathan nor Martha took much notice as the pet bowls were filled in less than a second and the blur streaked out the kitchen door while the pets happily chowed down. Martha took the juice from the fridge and poured a glass before bringing it and a plate piled high with food to the table, setting both down next to a fork and knife already at Linda's spot. She grabbed her coffee mug from the counter and came back to the table. Martha had barely sat down in her chair when the blur streaked back in over to the table; Jonathan glanced over the top of his paper to see Linda sitting at the table, happily chewing on a piece of bacon, her work clothes and hair covered in strands of hay.

"Good morning, sweetie," the farmer replied, smiling.

"Good morning," Linda mumbled around a mouthful of eggs.

"Any problems with the chores?" Martha asked casually before taking a sip from her mug.

Linda fought the urge to roll her eyes as she took a gulp of her juice. "Nope," she replied, setting her cup down and going back to eating, "everything's fine…just like it's been for the past two weeks." She winced inwardly when she heard the slightly sarcastic tone in her voice, then slowly glanced between her parents; they both appeared slightly concerned—but unoffended—and Linda sighed as she put her fork down. "Sorry, I shouldn't have said that."

Jonathan sighed and folded his paper, putting it aside. "Linda, it's been a rough month," he said, gently, "and we know things are returning to normal, but it doesn't mean we're going to stop worrying about you."

"I know," Linda replied sincerely, "and I do get it, but I've gotten my grades up, I'm caught up on all my orders, I'm on speaking terms with all my friends—even Jimmy and Dick—and the League isn't breathing down my neck so much anymore; I'm even enjoying visiting with J'onn."

"But?" Martha asked cautiously, hearing the slightly frustrated tone in her daughter's voice.

"It still feels like you guys are still walking on eggshells around me," Linda replied honestly, "even though I'm really fine. I haven't even had a vision—or memory, or whatever—since that night."

"We know," Jonathan said, "but we also want to make sure you **are** doing okay." He put a hand on her shoulder. "Please don't be mad at us for that."

"I'm not," Linda replied honestly, "but it's still frustrating."

"Well," Jonathan continued, smiling slightly, "the good news is you'll have a few days without your old folks around to get some peace and quiet."

"And you get to see Jimmy tonight, too," Martha added, smiling a little. "We know you've been looking forward to that."

"Oh, yeah, it's Valentine's Day," Linda replied, trying to sound innocent as she took another sip of juice. "I hadn't noticed."

"Uh huh," Jonathan replied, his smile growing as he reached over and ruffled her hair; when Linda smiled back, the farmer knew she was back to her old self.

"So," Linda said slowly, "I'm not trying to change your minds, but are you guys really sure you don't mind Jimmy being here with me…by ourselves?" She looked a little embarrassed. "We know what almost happened the last time we were alone together."

"Linda, if we didn't trust both you and Jimmy," Jonathan replied, "this wouldn't even be a discussion."

"But, since we will be gone by the time you get out of school," Martha said, "we should go over the rules one more time." Linda groaned a little, but kept quiet. "Now, this is the first time you'll be left alone without an adult around, so you'll be responsible for making sure all the chores are done, as well as your homework."

"I know," Linda replied.

"And you have all the numbers in case you need to reach us or Clark or Pete or Chloe," Jonathan continued. "If something comes up that you can't handle, then please call someone."

"I will," Linda answered.

"And no uninvited guests without our permission," Martha said.

Linda rolled her eyes. "I'm not Clark," she said. "I am **not** going to throw a party…especially with Jimmy coming over tonight."

"Good," Jonathan replied, unfazed, "and, speaking of Jimmy, we know you two are planning on having dinner and a movie, and we're trusting you to behave yourselves."

"We will," Linda replied, crossing her heart with her finger. "Trust me, my inhibitions are staying intact today." She glanced up at the wall clock and saw it was almost seven fifteen. The young woman's eyes widened as she zipped into super speed, wolfing down the rest of her food and zooming upstairs in a second; she returned five seconds later, having showered and changed for school. She wore a white fitted t-shirt with hand-painted, heart-shaped ladybugs, a pair of form-fitting black jeans, and red sneakers. Her freshly washed hair was pulled back and held in place by a red velvet hairclip with matching ladybugs glued on it. She wore a pair of matching ladybug clip-on earrings, and her backpack was slung over her right shoulder.

"So, what do you think?" she asked as she turned around.

"I think you look very lovely," a familiar voice spoke up. Everyone looked over and saw Clark—dressed in a suit and tie, long coat and scarf—leaning against the frame of the kitchen door.

"Clark!" Linda grinned as she ran over and jumped at her cousin, nearly bowling him over. He smiled as he wrapped his arms around her and hugged her close, briefly lifting her off her feet.

"Hey, Short Stack," he said as he put her down. "How are you doing?"

"Fine," Linda replied. "So, you really like my outfit?" Clark nodded. "I made it myself—well, I painted the shirt and made the earrings and hairclip myself."

"Well, I think you did a fantastic job," Clark said, grinning. "Oh, I have something for you." He quickly walked over to the porch swing and returned with a pink rose; he held it out to Linda. "Happy Valentine's Day."

"Oh, Clark, thank you," Linda said, taking the rose and giving him a quick peck on the cheek.

"Clark," Martha smiled as she and Jonathan walked over to the two; they each gave their son a quick hug. "What brings you out here?"

"Oh, just thought I'd see you guys off before I head to work," Clark said.

"And not to spy on me?" Linda asked, smiling as she folded her arms.

"Of course not," Clark answered innocently.

"Right," Linda replied, unconvinced.

"Linda, I think it's time you head off to school," Jonathan spoke up quickly before his children descended into a bickering match.

"Fine," Linda replied, glancing at Clark briefly before hugging her parents. In spite of knowing Clark wasn't being honest, she gave him another peck on the cheek. "See you later, guys. And I promise the house will stay in one piece while you're gone." She was about to leave, but Clark stopped her.

"Don't you think you should get a jacket," he asked, "and a hat and gloves?"

"I'm not cold," Linda replied. The adults gave her that 'we know that, but you still need to dress properly' look; the young woman sighed and rolled her eyes a little. "Fine." She zipped upstairs once more and came back down a second later. She stopped long enough to give the adults one last peck on the cheek, and they could see her bundled up in a purple squall jacket, with a black knit cap and matching gloves. "Bye. Have a good time, you guys!" She blurred out the door, down the steps, and across the driveway, leaving a cloud of dust and frost in her wake.

"So, are you really here to just see us off?" Jonathan asked his son, an amused smile playing on his lips.

"Well, yeah, of course," Clark replied quickly, "and, uh, to see if you guys are really sure you don't want me hanging around until you get back. I don't mind."

"Clark," Martha said, folding her arms.

"Okay, okay," Clark replied. "Look, I just don't know if they're ready to be by themselves." He looked a little embarrassed. "We know how they feel about each other."

"Look," Jonathan said fatherly, knowing what Clark was referring to, "I know it wasn't pleasant hearing about what almost happened between Jimmy and Linda, but you can't let that cloud your judgment."

"I know," Clark replied, "but it's still hard to be around Jimmy; every time I look at him, all I can think about is how he feels about Linda."

"Clark, you can't keep avoiding Jimmy," Martha said. "It wasn't his fault."

"I know, and I'm not avoiding him," Clark replied quickly; he saw his parents' expressions and sighed. "I just…minimize my contact with him…and he doesn't seem to mind." He could tell his parents wanted to say something, but he was grateful they didn't. He was grateful his cell phone rang at that moment, and the reporter reached into his pants pocket; he saw Lois' name on the screen and smiled as he answered it. "Hey, Lois." He listened, then nodded. "Yeah, I'm on my way to the Planet now, why?" He furrowed his eyebrows, listening. "I thought he had school today." He raised his eyebrows. "Oh, okay…yeah, I'll meet you there." He hung up and put his phone back in his pocket.

"Everything okay?" Jonathan asked.

"Yeah," Clark replied. "Murder investigation; Lois and Jimmy are already on their way, so I need to go."

"Doesn't Jimmy have school today?" Martha asked.

"Got the day off," Clark replied. "Teacher in-service." He gave Martha a peck on the cheek and hugged Jonathan before stepping back and spinning in a tight; in a flash, he had changed into his Superman outfit. "Bye, guys; have a good time." He leapt off the porch and zoomed away from the farm, leaving Jonathan and Martha watching until he was out of sight.

"Do you think he'll really take a step back and not hover?" Martha asked.

"Not sure," Jonathan replied. "I'm a little more worried he and Jimmy haven't really talked since that night." He saw Martha's expression and leaned over, smiling slightly as he kissed her. "Now, Mrs. Kent, I believe you and I have a little appointment in Metropolis we're going to miss if we don't leave soon ourselves."

(End of Chapter 2)


	3. Chapter 3

"So, any word on Dick?" Linda asked as she and Mattie walked down the main hall of Smallville High, dodging other students as they made their way through the crowd.

"Nothing you don't already know," Mattie replied. She saw Linda's expression and sighed. "What?"

"Why do I get the feeling you guys all know something," Linda asked, "and I'm the one being left out in the cold?" She saw the slightly withering expression Mattie gave her, but she was undeterred. "Mattie, come on, I'm not stupid; I know there's something you guys are keeping from me. Now, I know things have been a little…weird lately, and I know I'm not as close to you guys as you are to each other, but—"

"Hold on, right there," Mattie interrupted as she pulled Linda off to the side, away from the crowd. "Now, look here, Linda, just because you're new doesn't mean we're purposefully trying to keep you out of the loop."

"But there **is** something you're not telling me," Linda countered. "Why?"

"Because Dick asked us not to, okay?" Mattie retorted. She saw Linda's worried expression and sighed, her expression softened. "Look, this was Dick's choice, not ours." She shrugged. "Personally, I think you **should** know, but it's his thing. And it's not like we all don't have secrets, right?"

"Yeah," Linda replied softly, knowing she couldn't argue with that point.

"Look, he'll tell you when he's ready," Mattie said. "Trust me, he wants you to know…he just doesn't know how to tell you." She glanced at a nearby wall clock. "And I better hurry; don't want to be late. See you at lunch." She left her friend and hurried down the all to her class. Linda looked a little despondent as she headed to the art room.

"Hey, nice outfit." Linda looked up when she recognized the voice and saw Gar approaching, grinning; his smile instantly faded when he saw her expression. "What's wrong?"

Linda shrugged as she started down the hall; Gar walked beside her. "Just…stuff," she replied.

"You wanna talk about it?" Gar asked.

"It's nothing you don't already know," Linda answered. She opened her mouth, then paused for a moment; she pulled Gar off to the side, away from the students, dropping her voice. "Do you honestly think I made the right decision?"

Gar sighed. "Look, we've been over this already," he said, "several times: if you don't feel comfortable telling your friends your secret, you shouldn't feel obligated just so Dick will tell you his."

"But do you think I'm being irrational?" Linda asked.

"And, like I've said before," Gar replied, "what happened last month was unnerving for everyone who actually **knew** what was going on. If you don't think your friends'll understand, then, no, I don't think you're being irrational; you're being cautious—and there's nothing wrong with that." Linda looked grateful for the support, and Gar grinned a little as they headed down the hall. "So, on a brighter note, you get the whole house to yourself this weekend."

"That I am definitely looking forward to," Linda replied. "No adults for a few days…except for J'onn's visit tomorrow."

"And you and Jimmy get the whole house to yourself tonight," Gar added with a grin.

"Will you stop that?" Linda asked, trying not to smile. "It's just dinner and a movie; Dick treated me to dinner and a movie on Wednesday, remember?"

"I'm still trying to figure out how you managed to get them to agree to it all," Gar replied. "You know how much they do **not** like each other."

"Well, I made it quite clear I care about both of them," Linda explained, "but after what happened last month, I thought it best we all take a step back and reevaluate everything. I promised to spend time with both of them—and they promised not to have a Battle Royale again over me."

"Well, I hear Jimmy's making dinner," Gar pointed out. "He told me it's something he knows you'll like."

"Dick made me dinner, too," Linda retorted, "and it was homemade pizza at his place."

"But his parents were in the next room," Gar shot back. "Yours won't even be in the same zip code."

"Well, Dick and I watched _Enchanted_ ," Linda countered.

"Well, Jimmy's bringing _Princess Bride_ ," Gar responded, "and I personally think R.O.U.S.s beat bursting into song any day."

"What?" Linda asked, furrowing her eyebrows.

"You'll see," Gar replied, grinning.

"Okay, what is going on, Gar?" Linda asked, smiling. "Why are you so against Dick?"

"I have nothing against Malverne," Gar replied, "but if we're being honest, I'm Team Jimda, so, I—"

"'Team Jimda'?" Linda interrupted, stopping in her tracks.

"Well, it was either that or Team Linmy," Gar replied, "and it sounds **way** better than Team Lick or Dinda."

"Gar, you can't ship us," Linda said. "We're not television characters."

"Not yet," Gar pointed out, "but you already have the drama and the love triangle thing down, plus you have me," he waggled his eyebrows, "the plucky comic relief. I say if the art business slows down, call up the CW or something, and we can pitch them my idea." Linda raised an eyebrow, and Gar sighed, looking more serious. "Look, I think you and Jimmy would be an awesome couple, but...you're my best friend; I just want you to be happy."

"Thanks," Linda said gratefully, "I appreciate that, but let's change the subject."

"So, no adults for three days?" Gar asked.

"No adults for three days," Linda answered, and she stopped Gar when he opened his mouth, "and no, I'm not throwing a party."

"Not even a small one?"

"When Clark was my age, he and his friends threw a 'small party,'" Linda said as they turned the corner, "and about a hundred people showed up and almost trashed the house. Daddy and Momma were very eager to point out that if I tried anything like that, they would ground me until summer." They stopped at the door to the art room, and Linda's features darkened a little. "You know, this is the first time since school started where I don't want to walk into that room."

"You're still upset Ms. Patterson's gone?" Gar asked.

"Well, yeah, a little," Linda replied. "I mean, I'm glad she won the state lottery and can afford to study at the Royal Academy of Arts," she shrugged, "but she's not coming back, and you know I wouldn't have gotten as far in art without her encouragement."

"Well, maybe the new guy'll be just as good," Gar said. "Give him a chance."

"Doubtful," Linda retorted, "and I don't have to give him a chance; I know what kind of person he already is with a name like 'Jayson Potter': rumply, old, and probably has a paintbrush stuck up his ass."

"Actually, I usually store them in an airtight container," a masculine voice spoke up. Linda and Gar stiffened and turned their heads to see an unfamiliar man standing just in the open door; Linda instinctively sized him up. He appeared to be in his late-thirties, with short, unkempt dark brown hair and brown eyes. He wore an unbuttoned brown sports coat over a black polo shirt tucked into a pair of dark blue denim jeans; his shoes were brown designer hiking boots. He had an amused smile on his face, but he carried himself in such a manner that only seemed to add to his tall stature. "Bristles get stiff, otherwise. I also usually keep my clothes well ironed, but I've given up trying to smooth out my hair, and my philosophy on age is you're only as old as you feel." He held out his hand out to Linda, smiling. "I'm Jayson Potter. You must be Linda Kent."

"Yes," Linda said slowly, feeling her cheeks growing warm as she shook his hand.

"And you are?" Potter asked, turning to Gar.

"I'm…going to my class," Gar replied, nervously smiling; he quickly turned on his heels and hurried down the hall. Linda rolled her eyes, then looked back at her new teacher warily.

"So, Miss Kent," Potter said, smiling at the teenager, "Ms. Patterson spoke very highly of you. She told me you're one of her most promising students, and from what I've seen both here at the school and on your website, I'd say she's right."

"I'm not that special, sir," Linda said, smiling politely before brushing past Potter and heading into the room. She was so busy getting her supplies ready that she missed the brief intense look in Potter's eyes as he kept them fixed on her.

"Don't bet on it," he said in a barely audible whisper.

* * *

"Come on, Henderson," Lois said as she and the inspector stood near the yellow police tape that sectioned off an extremely filthy alley between two buildings in Hell's Gate, "there's gotta be something you can tell me." The air was cold and damp, and the reporter pulled her coat tighter around her, wishing for a large cup of hot coffee at the moment. She glanced over at Jimmy, taking pictures of the crime scene as the medical examiner tended to the victim: a young man with dark hair, dressed in a blood-soaked cloak and pants. It appeared he had been tossed like a piece of garbage among the boxes, crates, and trashcans.

"Why are you so interested in this case, Lane?" Henderson asked, trying to keep his annoyance in check and doing his best to ignore the bite in the air. "There are murders like this all over the city all the time."

"So, why is the S.C.U. getting involved in this one?" Lois pressed. She could tell Henderson was trying to come up with something they both knew wasn't going to be true, and she did her best to hide her smugness.

Henderson took a deep breath, deciding it wasn't worth the effort to try and cover it up. "Fine," he said, "but you better not print anything until you've checked with me, okay?"

"Depends on what you have," Lois replied.

"According the victim's license," Henderson said tersely, shooting the reporter a look, "his name was Craig Yaxley; eighteen years old, from Arlington, Texas."

"Texas?" Lois asked, confused. "A little far from home, huh? How was he killed?"

Henderson shrugged. "Something large and sharp," he said, "but I'm a little more interested in his attire: same as the others."

Lois raised her eyebrows. "'The others'?" she asked.

"Yaxley makes the third the past two weeks," Henderson answered. "All victims are young men, all are from out of state, all appeared to be killed with the same murder weapon, and all wearing costumes out of Game of Thrones or something."

"So, how did this become a S.C.U. case?" Lois asked.

"Since the mayor is breathing down my neck to solve this quickly," Henderson retorted, "especially with Wonder Con in town this weekend. Not too many people want to come to a city where its visitors are being murdered—especially ones who dress like those attending Wonder Con." He glanced over as the Yaxley was placed in a body bag and zipped up. "I meant what I said, Lane; everything I said is off the record." He left to attend his duties.

"For now," Lois said under his breath.

"Hey, sorry I'm late." Lois turned around to see Clark jogging up to her, looking a little winded.

The female reporter smirked at her partner. "You're late, Smallville," she said. Her nose wrinkled a little, and she grimaced slightly. "You know, I call you that so much I'm starting to hallucinate the smell of hay and manure on you."

"Might want to come up with a new name, then," Clark smiled. He glanced around, briefly taking in the scene. "So, what did I miss?"

"A lot," Lois replied. "I'll fill you in after we get back to the Planet." She glanced over as Jimmy came over. "You done, Jimmy?"

"Yeah, I think so," Jimmy answered as he fiddled with his camera. He and Clark glanced at each other before they looked away; Jimmy cleared his throat. "So, uh, since I'm done, I'm gonna get back to the Planet and get these pictures developed." He gave them a polite but brief smile before heading out of the alley to his car.

"Okay, so what is it with you two?" Lois asked as she and Clark left the crime scene.

"What?" Clark asked casually.

"You and Jimmy," Lois replied. "You two have barely talked to each other in the past few weeks."

"Just guy stuff, Lois," Clark answered. "Don't worry about it."

"If I didn't know you any better," Lois said, "I'd say there's something you're not telling me."

"Lois, I can't keep anything from you," Clark said, smiling. "You're too good of a reporter." He kissed her nose. "Now, why don't you tell me what I missed, and I'll buy you breakfast."

Lois knew Clark was keeping something from her, but she decided not to press it for the time being. "You got a deal," she replied, smiling back.

(End of Chapter 3)


	4. Chapter 4

Linda stood in the electronic section of Fordman's, staring at the rows of alarm clocks. The rest of the school day had been uneventful, but the young girl was still glad when it ended so she could get ready for the evening. Grinning to herself, she quickly picked one similar to the one she had pulverized when her phone buzzed; she pulled it out of her pocket and saw Clark's name; the teenager sighed, telling herself not to get upset—yet—as she answered it.

"Hi, Clark," she said, keeping her composure.

"Hey, Short Stack, how's it going?" Clark asked.

"It's going fine," Linda replied patiently. "I'm doing a little shopping before going back to the farm to get the chores done and then get ready for tonight."

"What are you shopping for?" Clark asked curiously.

"A new alarm clock. I accidently hit the snooze button a little too hard this morning."

"Ooh, been there, done that," Clark replied.

"So, what are you up to?" Linda asked, smiling a little. "I'm sure it's much more interesting than calling your cousin and pretending to care what **she's** doing." She heard Clark chuckle, but she was thankful he didn't attempt to lie to her.

"Well, Lois and Chloe and I spent the morning at the Metropolis Wonder Con," he replied.

"Why, looking for more Warrior Angel comics?" Linda asked.

"Murder investigation, actually," Clark replied. "Young men with a penchant for dressing up as medieval characters are being murdered; thought we could find something there, but came up with nothing. We're just waiting for Jimmy's photos before figuring out our next move."

Linda glanced at a nearby wall clock; it was three fifteen. "You know he'll need to leave by four if he wants to miss rush hour."

"I'll make sure he leaves on time," Clark said.

"Will you?" Linda asked pointedly.

"You think I'd purposefully hold him back just so he'll be late?" Clark asked, a little hurt.

"Come on, Clark," Linda replied, dropping her voice, "we both know how you feel about Jimmy coming over tonight."

"Look, I may not like the idea of you two being alone together," Clark said, dropping his voice as well, "but give me a little credit, okay?" There was a long bit of silence, and Clark wondered if Linda had hung up on him. "Linda?"

"Why can't you move past what happened?" Linda asked softly. "Everyone else has, but you haven't. Why?"

Clark sighed. "Linda, it's complicated," he said.

"How is it complicated?" Linda asked. "Mom and Dad trust us—why can't you?" Clark opened his mouth, but he stopped; he couldn't come up anything. "Your silence speaks volumes."

Clark closed his eyes and sighed; this was not how he wanted the conversation to go. "Linda, I—"

"Look, I have things to do," Linda interrupted. "I'll talk to you later."

"Could I at least call later to check on things?" Clark asked. "Maybe around eight or so?" There was silence. "I promise I won't pop in."

"Fine," Linda replied curtly. She didn't wait for a response as she hung up and put her phone away. She understood Clark's concern, but it still frustrated—and hurt—her that her cousin couldn't seem to move past what had nearly happened with Jimmy. She sighed and tried to push Clark from her mind as she headed toward the front of the store; she didn't want anything spoiling her evening. She passed a Valentine's Day display, then stopped short and slowly craned her neck, looking over her shoulder; spotting a few items, the young girl grinned as a few ideas formed in her head.

* * *

"Sounds like things didn't go so well."

Clark glanced over as he hung up the phone and saw Chloe leaning against a nearby column, arms folded. The reporter sighed and leaned back in his chair as Chloe came over and half sat on the corner of his desk. "Not really," he replied. "Chloe, you understand where I'm coming from right?"

"Sure, I get it," Chloe said. "I mean, it's one thing to know your closest friend and your baby cousin have feelings for each other; it's another thing when they decide to act on those feelings."

"Thank you," Clark said. "Finally, someone who understands how I feel."

"Oh, I understand perfectly, Clark," Chloe replied, "but this isn't about **you**."

Clark stopped and glanced up at his friend. "Excuse me?"

"Clark, you're my friend," Chloe said slowly, trying to choose her words carefully, "and I really understand how you feel—Linda is your cousin, and you want to protect her—but you have to stop treating Jimmy like he's Public Enemy Number One."

"Chloe, I don't—"

"Clark, you've hardly spoken twenty sentences to Jimmy since that night," Chloe interrupted. "It's like you're punishing him for feelings that are perfectly natural for someone his age."

"I have no problem with him having those feelings," Clark said. "What I have a problem with is that he couldn't see something was wrong with Linda until Perry interrupted; that was the only reason things didn't," he shifted, uncomfortably, "progress between them."

"And, if I recall," Chloe gently pointed out, "you had no problem when Alicia came into your room that one night, and it took your father coming in unexpectedly to keep things from progressing."

"That was different," Clark said.

"Why, because you're the only one who's allowed to have those kinds of feelings?" Chloe asked. Clark remained silent, but shrugged; Chloe sighed. "Clark, you're one of my best friends, but you can be really frustrating at times."

"What am I supposed to do, Chloe?" Clark asked, trying not to raise his voice. "Forget about what happened?"

"No, but you need to do what everyone else already is," Chloe answered. "You need to trust them—both of them—and you and Jimmy need to sit down and just talk, otherwise you're going to lose a really good friend—a **trustworthy** friend—and run the risk of losing Linda as well." She saw movement out of the corner of her eye and saw Jimmy heading over from the elevators with a stack of recently developed photos. "Maybe you can get the ball rolling now."

Clark glanced over, saw Jimmy, then looked back at Chloe, raising an eyebrow, as if to say 'do I have to?' He didn't have to be a telepath to understand the meaning of Chloe's 'yes, you have to' expression; Clark sighed softly as Jimmy reached them.

"Got the photos you asked for," the photographer said, all but dumping them on Clark's desk; he stepped back a little, stuffing his hands in his jeans pockets as he waited.

"Thanks, Jimmy," Clark said as he picked up the stack and started flipping through them. Jimmy had done a very thorough job at the crime scene. "Nice job."

"Thanks," Jimmy replied monotonously, keeping his attention focused on his photos; he waited a few moments. "Is there anything else you guys need me to do before I head out? It's getting late, and I don't want to hit rush hour."

Clark glanced at Chloe, who gave him a mental nudge; the reporter took a deep breath. "Uh, Jimmy," he said slowly, "do you want me to fly you out there? I could get you to Smallville in no time."

"No, it's okay," Jimmy said dismissively. "Wouldn't want to trouble you or anything."

Clark knew Jimmy was lying, but he decided not to push it. "Okay," he said, trying to sound casual.

"I gotta go," Jimmy said, "but don't worry, Clark, I'll make sure to keep Linda at arm's length tonight." He didn't wait for a response before he abruptly headed to his desk and gathered his things.

Chloe raised an eyebrow at Jimmy's tone, then glanced at Clark; the reporter appeared a little affronted, then his expression took on a more downcast appearance. Chloe sighed and patted his shoulder as she stood up. "Give him time." She headed back to her own desk as Clark glanced back over at Jimmy and watched him sling his bag over his shoulder before heading over to the elevators.

* * *

Streaky and Krypto sat on their haunches on the couch, looking completely unfazed as they watched the blue blur race around the entire house. After a few seconds, Linda stopped behind the couch, holding a mop, bucket, and broom in one hand, and a rag, duster, and wood polish in the other; her clothes and hair appeared a little disheveled from the work, but the young woman surveyed everything as she ran through a mental checklist: shelves dusted, the windows cleaned, and floors swept and mopped.

"Not bad," she said, grinning proudly, "if I do say so myself." She glanced over at the clock on the mantel; it was five after five. "And still enough time to relax in a nice, long and very hot bubble bath." She leaned over to pet the animals, but both of them quickly jumped off the couch, giving their owner a quick growl and hiss as they scampered into the kitchen; Linda fixed them with a bit of an annoyed expression, even though she knew they couldn't see it. "Aw, come on, I don't smell that bad, you guys." She sniffed the sleeve of her shirt—and caught the concentrated smell of wood polish, flood and window cleaner, and hay and manure—and her nose crinkled as she quickly pulled her arm down. "Or maybe I do." She sighed and quickly blurred out of the living room, putting the cleaning supplies back into the pantry in the hall, before speeding upstairs.

(End of Chapter 4)


	5. Chapter 5

A 2006 brown Chevy Cavalier turned onto the gravel drive leading up to the Kent Farm; its headlights shown brightly in the darkness at it passed the barn and stopped near the picket fence bordering the farmhouse. Jimmy glanced at the clock radio—it was about ten minutes after seven—then turned off the engine and headlights, but he didn't get out right away; he just stared ahead at the house bathed in the soft glow in the porch lights, thinking back to the last time he'd been there. He shook his head, shoving those unpleasant memories from his mind before glancing in the rearview mirror. His hair was still combed back, and the teenager allowed himself a confident smile as he took a deep breath and got out, closing the door behind him, keeping his eyes focused on the house.

"You're late."

Jimmy stiffened when he heard the familiar voice, and he slowly turned around. Linda stood a few feet behind him, arms folded, looking amused.

"I'm so sorry," Jimmy replied, looking very apologetic. "Traffic backed up on the Queensland Bridge, and it took forever to get over; I hurried as fast as I could." He suddenly stopped and tilted his head as he got a good look at Linda's outfit: form-fitting— **really** form-fitting, he noticed—black jeans, a loose-fitting red and white polka dot blouse…and a pair of red heart head boppers on her hair; he raised an eyebrow, confused. "Did you know you're wearing heart antennae on your head?"

Linda grinned. "Got them earlier today," she replied before holding up one of her feet, showing off a bright red toe sock with white hearts all over it. "What do you think?"

Jimmy raised an eyebrow. If anyone else had been wearing that outfit, it would have looked a little ridiculous, but Linda somehow made it work; he slowly smiled. "I think you look really nice," he said sincerely.

Linda glanced at Jimmy's outfit under his favorite jacket—a simple black polo shirt, matching slacks, and dress shoes—and smiled. "You look really nice, too," she said before glancing in the back window of his car; she spotted a few items on the back seat. "So, is that our dinner?"

"Uh, yeah," Jimmy replied, glancing at his car.

"I thought we agreed to keep it small," Linda said, noting the multiple dishes and a couple of small coolers.

"Yeah, I know," Jimmy replied, stuffing his hands in his pockets, "but I thought about that, and since I pretty much ruined your first birthday on Earth, I wanted to make it up by giving you a really nice Valentine's Day."

Linda sighed. "Jimmy, we've talked about that already," she said patiently. "I never blamed you for what happened."

"I know," Jimmy replied, "but I still feel bad it was **my** present that caused the whole mess." The image of Linda in his bedroom invaded his mind, and the teenager quickly shoved it out as he felt his cheeks grow warm. He glanced up at Linda, hoping she hadn't noticed; she appeared slightly concerned, and he sighed. "Look, I know what we agreed on, but it would make me feel better if you let me do this—kinda like a birthday redo."

Linda opened her mouth to protest, but when she saw Jimmy's slightly puppy dog expression, she found she couldn't; she sighed, smiling. "Okay," she replied. She heard the barely audible sigh of relief as he appeared to relax. "So, what's on the menu tonight, Mr. Olsen?"

Jimmy felt his confidence return as he grinned. "Well, Miss Kent," he said as he opened the back door, "if you will help me get a few things, and then I'll show you."

* * *

"Is there really such a thing as iocaine powder?" Linda asked around a mouthful of asparagus; she sat cross-legged on one side of the couch, her dinner plate in her lap, and her eyes glued to the television; Jimmy sat on the other side of the couch, balancing his plate in his lap. Krypto and Streaky lay curled up on the rug in front of the fireplace, sleeping soundly.

"No," Jimmy replied before spearing some cheesy pasta and eating it, "it's just something they made up for the movie." He glanced over and saw how intently Linda stared at the screen, her heart antennae bobbing occasionally, her cheeks stuffed—and suddenly _The Princess Bride_ didn't seem all that interesting anymore. Linda glanced over, and Jimmy quickly averted his attention, grabbing for his glass, half-filled with blood orange soda; he took a sip and winced a little when he felt the warm liquid. "Hey, uh, could I ask you a favor?"

"Not a fan of warm soda?" Linda asked, amused.

"Not really?" Jimmy responded, looking sheepish. Still smiling, Linda held out her hand, and Jimmy passed his glass to her; she blew a gentle puff over the top, and the soda inside instantly cooled. She handed the glass back to him, and Jimmy smiled gratefully before taking a sip, sighing with contentment. "Thanks."

"You're welcome," Linda said. "So, we've had a chicken Alfredo baked ziti and asparagus, with some blood orange soda, and we're watching—" Her cellphone buzzed on the end table, and Linda's expression faltered a little when she recognized the ringtone; she sighed and grabbed the phone, answering it. "Clark."

"Hey, Short Stack," Clark said gently. "It's eight, and you said I could call to check in."

"Well, we're fine," Linda replied, slightly curt. "We're watching a movie right now."

"Oh, whatcha watching?" Clark asked curiously.

"A movie," Linda snarked. "Now, since you checked in, and we're fine, I'm hanging up. Bye." She hung up and put her phone back in its on the end table. She glanced over at Jimmy, who looked slightly bothered; Linda sighed. "What?"

Jimmy sighed and grabbed the remote; he paused the movie before putting his plate and glass down on the coffee table. "So, how long have you and Clark been fighting about me?" he asked.

"We're not fighting," Linda replied as she grabbed her glass and took a sip. She glanced over at Jimmy, her lips still on the glass and saw the 'I don't believe you,' expression; she rolled her eyes and sighed as she put her drink down. "Fine, we're fighting."

Jimmy's expression darkened slightly. "I never wanted you guys to fight about me," he said.

"Jimmy, it's not about you," Linda replied. "This about Clark being a Grade A _kreteno_."

Jimmy raised an eyebrow. "Okay, I know that was Kryptonese," he said slowly, "and I'm guessing it wasn't something very nice." Linda shrugged but didn't say anything, and Jimmy slowly inhaled before scooting a bit closer to her. "Look, I know Clark's having a hard time accepting," he looked embarrassed as he cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck, "what…almost happened between us, but I—"

"Please don't tell me you think he's being reasonable," Linda interrupted.

"No, he's seriously pissing me off," Jimmy replied bluntly. "I already feel bad enough for what happened, but I'm dealing with it, I'm moving on—everyone is but Clark."

"And that's what's ticking me off, too," Linda agreed. "I'm tired of Clark being so fixated on what nearly happened that he can't see past the fact that it **didn't** happen—and that he doesn't trust us." She glanced at Jimmy saw his concerned expression; she sighed and grabbed her plate, using her fork to move pasta and asparagus spears around before taking a large bite. "This is supposed to be a fun night; I don't want it to be ruined because of my cousin and his attitude."

Jimmy wordlessly stared at her, concerned, but he decided not to push to the subject any further. A thought suddenly crossed his mind as he glanced at the kitchen. He suddenly grinned before hopping to his feet and deftly grabbed Linda's plate and his.

"Hey, I wasn't done!" Linda protested as he headed toward the kitchen. Her plate suddenly flew from Jimmy's hand and back to her; Jimmy stopped and whirled around to see Linda shoveling the rest of her food in her mouth.

"That is totally not fair," the photographer retorted.

"I wanted to finish," Linda mumbled loudly as she chewed, her cheeks puffing out. She swallowed and put her fork on the plate and then let it go; it gently floated back over to Jimmy. "It was a good dinner."

"I understand that," Jimmy said, amused, before grabbing the plate in midair and heading toward the kitchen, "but that's still not fair." Linda stuck her tongue out, grinning, as she telekinetically brought the remote over from its spot and started the movie. The young girl was so mesmerized that she didn't notice Jimmy had come back until he was sitting next to her, holding two small plates and forks.

"Dessert?" he asked, offering her one of the dishes.

Linda glanced down, and her eyes widened slightly when she saw the dessert: a large slice of two-layer cheesecake. The top layer was regular cheesecake with whole, bright pink raspberries mixed in, while the bottom layer was made of chocolate cheesecake; a few fresh raspberries on top, along with a drizzling of chocolate sauce completed the culinary confection.

"Whoa," she muttered, impressed, taking the offered plate and took a bite. She closed her eyes and moaned softly as the different flavors mingled in her mouth as she chewed.

"You like it?" Jimmy asked before taking a bite of his own slice.

"I love it," Linda exclaimed, quickly swallowing. "Did you make this?" Jimmy nodded, looking a little embarrassed. "Jimmy, this tastes wonderful."

"It's nothing special," Jimmy replied, hoping his cheeks weren't too red.

"Yes, it is," Linda said. "All of this is special," she took another bite, grinning, "but this is amazing."

"Well, with Mom being gone a lot," Jimmy said, smiling as his cheeks grew warm, "I finally got tired of ramen noodles and mac and cheese." He opened his mouth, then hesitated for a few moments. "So, you really like it?"

"Why wouldn't I?" Linda asked before taking another bite. "This is really fantastic; only a brainless idiot would think this was horrible."

"True, but I still wouldn't call Lucy a brainless idiot," Jimmy replied, "at least, not in front of Lois." Linda stopped and slowly looked over at Jimmy, not sure she had heard him right; Jimmy shrugged. "I'm not trying to make a joke, and, yes, that means I did cook for Lucy."

"Oh," Linda said casually, suddenly finding the cheesecake more interesting.

"Look, it was a couple of months before you showed up," Jimmy explained. "I couldn't afford to really get her anything for her birthday, so I decided to try cooking dinner for her—her favorite dish—and nothing would go wrong."

"So, what did?" Linda asked.

"She criticized everything," Jimmy answered. "The meat was too dry, the sauce too salty; she couldn't find even **one** positive thing to say about it. In fact, she actually said to me before leaving was 'you should have just bought me something and left the cooking to the professionals."

"Ouch," Linda winced. "I'm sorry."

Jimmy shrugged. "Yeah, I kinda didn't want to cook like that for anyone again," he glanced at Linda, giving her a small smile, "before now, I mean."

"So, you've been holding out on me for the past seven months?" Linda teased.

"Well, we **were** a little preoccupied with carjacking trucks, lying to our parents, and getting into all kinds of trouble," Jimmy replied, still smiling. He relaxed when Linda, still smiling, leaned back against the couch and started eating her dessert, watching the movie; the young photographer followed suit.

After a few minutes, Linda absentmindedly leaned against Jimmy's shoulder, causing him to stiffen slightly; he relaxed after a few moments and carefully set his plate down on the coffee table before lifting his arm up and putting it around her shoulders. He rested his cheek against her head, expertly avoiding her bobbing antennae, and the two continued watching their movie in silence.

(End of Chapter 5)


	6. Chapter 6

"Are you sure you're going to be okay?" Linda asked as she and Jimmy walked slowly down the path to the drive; Jimmy carried the coolers by their handles, swinging them gently.

"It's only ten," Jimmy said as they reached his car. "I'll be home around one. It's not like I haven't stayed up that late before."

"I could get you there faster," Linda offered, "even in your car."

"And no one will notice a car being carried by a teenager girl running almost a hundred miles per hour," Jimmy said, smirking. Linda didn't look amused, and Jimmy sighed as he put the cooler on the ground and placed both of his hands on her shoulders. "I'll be fine, I promise."

"You better be," Linda replied. Her eyes suddenly widened. "Oh, gosh, wait here." She quickly blurred away from Jimmy, heading into the house and returning before the photographer could ask; she held up a small white gift bag with a red bow. "I forgot to give you your gift."

"I thought we said no gifts," Jimmy said.

"Yes, and you said you'd keep the dinner small," Linda pointed out with amusement.

Jimmy glanced at the gift bag and sighed; knew he couldn't argue with that. "Well, I didn't get you anything," he said.

"That's okay," Linda replied, gently shoved the bag into Jimmy's hands before he could object. Jimmy reached into the bag and pulled out a ceramic coffee tumbler and black lid; it had been hand-painted in navy blue with thin, hunter green stripes, and Jimmy's name on one side, and an extremely detailed Daily Planet logo on the other.

"You made this," Jimmy stated in awe.

"Well, I wish I could say I sculpted the tumbler," Linda replied, "but I just bought it, painted it, glazed it, and fired it. There's also something on the bottom inside."

Slightly furrowing his eyebrows, Jimmy took the lid off and glanced inside; it was a little hard to see in the dim light, but at the bottom of the tumbler were the words 'gratias tibi ago.' Jimmy tilted his head, confused, before glancing up at Linda.

"It's Latin for 'thank you,'" Linda explained. "I thought about doing it in Kryptonian symbols, but figured it'd be safer going with Latin."

"Okay," Jimmy replied slowly, "but 'thank you' for what?"

Linda smiled warmly. "For everything," she answered. "For just…you."

Jimmy smiled. "Well, gratias tibi ago, too," he said before wrapping his arms around her, hugging her gently; he sighed inwardly with relief when he felt his arms wrap around his neck. After a few moments, they pulled back a bit and paused, staring at each other.

"Salūtātiō," Linda replied softly after a few seconds. She reluctantly let him go and took a step back before inhaling softly. "You better get going before it gets too late."

"Yeah," Jimmy said reluctantly as he carefully put the tumbler and lid back in the bag and opened the driver's side door to his car. He leaned in and put the cooler and gift bag in the passenger seat before climbing in and shutting the door; he stared the engine then rolled down his window.

"Please be careful," Linda said seriously, "and let me know when you get home."

Jimmy smiled a bit and bowed his head slightly. "As you wish," he said. He put his car in gear and carefully backed up before driving off. Linda stayed in her spot, watching the taillights until his car turned onto the main road and headed east. The teenager waited until he was a few miles away before slowly grinning, turning on her heels and heading toward the house, unaware that her feet briefly hovered about an inch above the ground with every step she took.

* * *

It was a little after one in the morning when the door to the Olsen apartment opened. Jimmy walked in before closing and locking the door securely; he tossed the empty cooler onto the living room couch before heading to his room. He flipped the switch, and the lamp beside his bed turned on before he headed over to his dresser. He removed the tumbler from the gift bag and placed it on his dresser before taking a step back, smiling a bit; he would **definitely** be taking that to work on Monday.

After a few seconds, he tossed the bag onto the bed before reaching into his pants pocket and pulling out his cellphone; he quickly texted 'I'm home, I'm fine' to Linda before tossing the phone on his bed. A few seconds later, his phone buzzed; Jimmy quickly grabbed it and glanced at the screen.

'Thanks for letting me know.'

Jimmy stared at the screen for a few seconds, then he typed another message: 'I had a really great time tonight.'

'Me too' appeared a couple of seconds later.

Jimmy hesitated, his fingers hovering over the screen, deciding what he should respond with; he took in a deep breath before typing out 'Well, I should get some sleep. Talk with you later?' and sending it.

'Definitely. Goodnight, Jimmy.'

Jimmy texted back 'Goodnight, Linda.' before he tossing the phone on his bed again as he headed over to his his desk; he picked up the single black and white photograph from the top of a small stack and stared at it.

The image was a close up of a simple clay medallion hung around Yaxley's neck; what appeared to be an innocuous symbol was carved on it, circled in red marker with the words 'maze' and 'Wonder Con?' written beside it. As the photographer stared at the photo, he started to wonder if should have told Clark or Lois or even Chloe about his theory—and if he shouldn't have hidden the photograph. A glint out of the corner caught his eye, and the photographer quickly banished that thought from his mind as he put the photo back on his desk, then reached over and picked up the shiny object: a helms chainmail necklace made with dark silver and gold rings; a tiny gift tag, reading 'Linda' was tied near the clasp.

Jimmy stared at the piece of jewelry; he had made it a week ago to give to Linda as a replacement for the red kryptonite bracelet, intending to give it to her after dessert, but the young photographer had chickened out at the last minute: he had managed to convince himself that the dinner and movie would have been overwhelming enough, but he knew, deep down, he was afraid she would've rejected it, so he had just left it on his desk. He fingered the delicate metal rings in his hand, a twinge of guilt seeping into his mind, and he wondered if he should call Linda and let him know what he was planning; he quickly shook his head as he put the necklace back on his desk.

 _You've caused enough trouble in her life already_ , he said to himself. _No need to add to it._

With a new determination that he was going to have to go solo on this endeavor, he crossed the room to his closet and opened the door; he moved aside some clothes and reached into the far left corner, rummaging around. After a few moments, he pulled out a pair of dark brown leather lace up arm bracers and a matching leather vest; he tossed them both on the bed, as well as a few more articles of clothing and a pair of brown suede boots. The last thing he pulled out was a long black leather sheath with a series of wrapped leather thongs at its midsection; a sword was tucked inside, but the handle was still clearly visible. It had been over a year since Jimmy had last pulled the sword from his closet—even longer since he'd last used it—evident by the thin layer of dust covering it, and the young photographer carefully brushed his fingers over the handle, removing the dust and studying every detail.

The gold metal pommel bore the image of a dragon, and the grip was made of alternating sections of black and gold, but the metal guard really stood out; it was in the shape of a two-headed dragon and very detailed—right down to the realistic scales and fangs. Jimmy gripped the handle in his right hand and carefully pulled the sword from the sheath, revealing a long, double-edged blade of solid steel over three feet long. It had been a birthday present from his mother when he had turned thirteen—he'd had a mild obsession with Dungeons and Dragons at the time. It would have been a bit heavy to most people, but Jimmy didn't notice its weight; it felt natural and balanced as he took a few light swings and then shifted it from one hand to the other and back.

Satisfied, he put it back in the sheath and carefully set it on the desk; he put the clothes and boots on top of the sword before kicking off his shoes and removed his shirt, tossing it aside. He was anxious to put his plan into action, but the drive back from Smallville—while definitely worth it—had exhausted what was left of his energy reserves; he wouldn't be able to do anything for a few more hours anyway. He finished undressing and slipped on a pair of navy sweatpants and a gray t-shirt. He stretched and yawned before walking over and flipping the light switch off. After his eyes adjusted to the darkness, Jimmy shuffled over to his bed and flopped on top of the covers, his head resting on one of his pillows; he gave a final yawn before closing his eyes and drifting off to sleep.

(End of Chapter 6)


	7. Chapter 7

It was just after seven in the morning at the Kent Farm as the cows trudged happily from the barn, eager to begin grazing in the fields after having been milked. A few seconds later, Linda blurred out the barn doors over to the henhouse; the chickens squawked and scattered out of the way as she quickly gathered eggs and scattered chicken feed on the ground, waiting until Linda had left before venturing out to get their breakfast.

Inside the kitchen, Linda washed the eggs before putting them in the fridge. She glanced around the house, walking from room to room—checking to make sure she had finished all her chores and the house was still neat and tidy; having been fed earlier and very satiated, both Streaky and Krypto lounged on the couch, dozing. Satisfied, she made her way into the kitchen to fix herself some breakfast and stopped short when she saw Jimmy's jacket draped on one of the chairs at the kitchen table.

The teenager tilted her head and furrowed her eyebrows, confused; she hadn't seen it the previous night before going to bed or even that morning when she came down. Shrugging to herself, she pulled her phone out and dialed Jimmy's number. She frowned slightly as it immediately went over to voicemail:

"Hey, it's Jimmy Olsen," she heard. "Leave a message; thanks."

Linda waited for the tone. "Hey, it's Linda," she said. "Sorry to call so early, but you left your jacket in the kitchen. Give me a call so we can figure out how to get it to you." She hung up and glanced at the wall clock; J'onn wasn't scheduled to arrive for their weekly meeting for almost two hours. The young girl blurred around the kitchen, making and eating a bacon, lettuce, and tomato sandwich with orange juice in less than three seconds; it took another two seconds for her to clean all the dishes and put everything away.

Once completed, she zoomed upstairs and drew a hot bath, spending the next hour soaking in the tub; as she lounged, her thoughts wandered back to the previous night, remembering the words that Jimmy had told her before leaving: 'as you wish.' Sighing softly, she found herself smiling as she sunk below the surface of the water, absentmindedly picturing Jimmy dressed in black and fighting off a horde of R.O.U.S.s with nothing but a sword, a charming smile, and the occasional dry quip.

* * *

The air was thick and rank, smelling like a public toilet that hadn't been cleaned in weeks, the large, cavern-like room dimly lit by hanging lights; a large white circle in the center of the room was flanked on three sides by a few rows of wooden benches, arranged stadium style; almost every available space was crammed with young men, ranging from mid-teens to early twenties. All were dressed in various medieval and cosplay garb, and they cheered and hollered at the two combatants standing inside the ring.

The first was a young man in his early twenties, tall with dark hair, eyes, and a bit of facial scruff, dressed in a costume that gave him the appearance of Robb Stark from Game of Thrones; he stood still, shoulders squared, facing his opponent. Jimmy stood at the opposite end of the ring, fully dressed in his costume, trying to convince himself that what he was doing wasn't completely idiotic.

"Combatants, ready yourselves!" a young man, dressed completely in black—tunic, trousers, belt, and boots—shouted as he stood next to the ring. The fighters gripped the hilts of their swords and pulled them from their sheaths; they narrowed their eyes as they held their weapons and assumed fighting stances. "Fight!"

Jimmy just stood there, holding his ground, his eyes fixed on the Stark wannabe as he charged, sword upheld. He swung hard at Jimmy, who brought his own sword up to block; the two blades met, metal clanging loudly. The teenager pushed back with his weight before throwing a kick to Stark's stomach; Stark stumbled and staggered, but recovered quickly, growling and looking more determined to best his opponent. The two circled each other for a few moments, their eyes locked on each other, as the crowd's cheers echo loudly, before Stark took another shot. Jimmy couldn't bring his sword up to block in time and only just managed to dive out of the way; he felt the tip of Stark's sword tear the sleeve of his shirt as he tumbled and quickly got to his feet, still holding his blade.

Jimmy stared at Stark, who smirked at him before turning left and swinging his sword at the teenager; Jimmy managed to parry. He pushed forward, swinging at Stark with a number of attacks, driving Stark backward. Emboldened by a fresh rush of adrenaline and the fear he saw in his rival's eyes, the teenager pounded at Stark with a number of attacks, pouring on swing after swing. He shouted loudly and swung his blade down with all his strength, striking Stark's sword with such a force that it was knocked from his hands; it clattered to the ground.

Stark tried reaching for his sword, but the blade thrust against his throat; the young man kept his hands out as he slowly got to his feet and glanced over at Jimmy. The teenager smirked as he held his sword against Stark's neck.

"Give?" Jimmy asked.

Stark sighed and furrowed his eyebrows slightly. "Give," he replied reluctantly.

The crowd erupted into loud cheers, and Jimmy slowly lowered his sword; he watched Stark retrieve his own sword and put it back, looking upset. When his gaze met Jimmy's, the photographer could see a bit of respect wash over his opponent's eyes; he nodded slightly, and Jimmy returned the gesture before Stark walked out of the ring. The teenager had started to sheath his sword when the announcer walked over and grabbed Jimmy's wrist, holding it aloft.

"The winner of Round One!" he shouted over the throngs and cheers. Jimmy tried to appear humble, but he had to admit to have the cheers and accolades aimed at him for a change; he allowed himself a small smile as the applause continued. It died down after a few moments, and the crowd dispersed. Jimmy wordlessly put his sword up and examined the tear on his sleeve; he couldn't see any visible wound or blood, but he knew it was going to take a skilled hand to fix the sleeve.

"Impressive."

Jimmy glanced over when he heard the British accent and raised an eyebrow, quickly and reflexively sizing up the newcomer as he approached, removing the hood from his head, giving Jimmy a good view. The guy was about six feet in height, with dirty blond hair and blue eyes, wearing an exact costume replica of Jaime Lannister, from the matching tunic and boots, all the way to the sword and sheath hanging from his left hip.

"It was nothing, really," Jimmy replied.

"I've seen good sword fighting in my time," the man said, "so when I say someone's impressive, I don't say that lightly." He held his hand out to the teenager. "Name's Armstrong. Ulyssess Armstrong; I run this dog-and-pony show."

"Freeborn," Jimmy responded, shaking the offered hand. "Ridley Freeborn. You're in charge?" Armstrong nodded. "So, why are you doing all this, if you don't mind me asking."

"Didn't they explain everything when you signed up?" Armstrong asked curiously.

"Well, yeah," Jimmy answered, "and I think what you're doing is really awesome. I mean, I love sword fighting and cosplay, but I don't have much time to do it, so when I heard about this, I couldn't say no."

"Well, Mr. Freeborn," Armstrong said, "that's pretty much why I'm doing this: I want those who have a love for sword fighting to have a bit of a sanctuary, where they can truly come and enjoy their sport, for a fraction of the cost of anything above ground could offer."

"And the quarter million dollar incentive?" Jimmy inquired.

Armstrong smiled. "Even I have bills to pay," he replied, "plus the expenses of keeping things under wraps; wouldn't be much fun having the cops visit."

"No, of course not," Jimmy replied, nodding, before glancing around. "So, uh, I won, now what?"

"Well, you get a break for a couple of hours while we finish the first round of competitions," Armstrong answered. "Come back at nine for Round Two." He nodded politely before walking away, followed by the announcer; Jimmy watched the two of them disappear.

"You can count on it," he muttered, barely audible, under his breath.

(End of Chapter 7)


	8. Chapter 8

"Hello?"

Linda cautiously peered inside the door to the Olsen apartment and looked around the empty living room, clutching Jimmy's jacket in her hand and trying not to feel nervous. Jimmy hadn't contacted her during her hour long bath, but Linda hadn't been too bothered by that; she knew his life didn't revolve around her, nor did she expect it. Still, she also knew Jimmy really liked that particular jacket and would want it back as soon as possible, so the young girl decided she'd just zip over to Metropolis really quickly, leave it in his apartment, and be back in Smallville with plenty of time before J'onn showed up.

As Linda shut the door behind her, she felt her stomach get a little knotty, not because she was, by definition, breaking and entering—even though she hadn't broken anything to get into the apartment. _Telekinesis has its advantages_ , she mused briefly before her thoughts wandered back to the last time she'd been in that apartment. The young girl quickly pushed that thought from her mind, focusing on the task at hand, as she crossed the apartment to Jimmy's room; she paused at the open doorway before walking in and looking around.

Jimmy's room looked just as it did the last time she'd been there; she spotted the tumbler she'd made for him on his dresser and smiled a little as she walked over to the desk and hung the jacket on the back of the chair. The teenager turned to leave, but her attention was drawn to the chainmail necklace next to the stack of black and white photos; she tilted her head as she picked up the necklace and examined it, admiring the detail. She glanced at the clasp and saw her name written on the small white tag; she wasn't sure, but she had a feeling what it was for and sighed.

"So, why didn't you give it to me last night?" she asked softly, even though she had her suspicions. Shaking her head, she put the necklace back on the desk as she glanced at the stack of photos nearby. She tilted her head as she picked up the top photo and stared at it; it was a close up of a clay medallion around someone's neck, with 'maze' and 'Wonder Con?' written on it. The next photo was further back, and the young girl saw the dead body sprawled out on the pavement, the blood soaked wound clearly visible. The image didn't bother Linda too much, but she still set the photo aside and started going through the rest of the stack, curious.

Most of the images were of the same crime scene, but the last few showed a different location. Linda saw a place crowded with people—some dressed in unusual costumes—and booths with comics and different types of science fiction memorabilia. The young girl quickly deduced it was the Wonder Con Clark had told her about the day before; the rest of the photos showed an entrance, clearly off to the side of the main area, with someone standing next to the door, talking with some teenage boys in costumes.

Linda furrowed her eyebrows as she saw something around the necks of the teenagers. She raised her glasses and squinted slightly, zooming in and focusing on the one of the objects; she could clearly see a medallion around the teenager's neck—with the same design that had been on the medallion around the dead guy's neck. The young girl switched back to her regular vision, her expression thoughtful; she flipped to the last photo and saw the same door, and it appeared the teenagers were handing wads of cash to the guard; she stared at the words written in marker near the top: 'Saturday 8AM.'

Linda closed her eyes and sighed as the pieces started coming together. She put everything back on the desk before reaching into her jeans pocket and pulling out her cell phone; she quickly dialed Jimmy's number. A moment later, she heard 'Hello, Sweetie' combined with a low buzzing sound; she turned and saw Jimmy's phone on his nightstand.

Linda stared at the phone in disbelief, the ringtone and buzz looping several times before the young girl—carefully—hit the end button on her own phone in frustration. She glanced at the clock on the nightstand, mulling, her lips pursed. After a few moments, she put her phone back in her pocket and quickly blurred out of the room.

* * *

Jimmy carefully maneuvered through the crowd of people milling about different exhibits, displays, and kiosks on the main exhibit hall of the Jerry Shuster Convention Center. A good portion of the crowd wore a variety of costumes: there were people dressed as Klingons, Vulcans, Storm Troopers, medieval characters, characters from various video games, and even members of the Justice League (though Jimmy felt like some of those people should **never** be seen in public wearing spandex— **ever** ); there were even quite a few people dressed up as characters from Doctor Who.

Linda would have so much fun here, he thought with a smile on his face. A twinge of guilt suddenly entered his mind, and he felt his stomach knotting. The photographer quickly pushed all thoughts of Linda from his mind, telling himself he was doing the right thing by keeping her in the dark. Deciding to head back to the fight area and distract himself by watching the other fighters in action, Jimmy set his jaw and made his way through the throng.

* * *

Linda raised an eyebrow and looked around the exhibit hall in disbelief, watching as people wandered to and fro through the large exhibit hall. She only knew a little about what a comic convention through snippets in conversations with her friends—including that a high percentage of people who attended would be in costume—but the teenager was still not prepared to see so many different…costumes. A group of college-aged men dressed up as Klingons, talking what sounded like aggressive gibberish, passed her, totally engrossed in their conversation.

"And everyone says aliens are weird," she muttered before making her way through the crowd. She glanced back and forth as she walked around, trying to find anything that appeared familiar, but she found it difficult to focus as she tried to take in all the sights and sounds around her. The young girl turned a corner and stopped short. About five booths down, looking at a display of books, stood Jimmy.

Linda sized him up and down a few times; she hadn't expected to see him in costume (especially one that suited him really well), so she just stood there, stunned. After several moments, she remembered why she was really there and snapped herself out of her stupor; she took a deep breath and carefully made her way through the crowd toward him. Halfway there, she saw Jimmy glance to his right before picking up his pace. Linda looked where he'd been looking and saw the wall clock nearby; the time was eight-forty-five; she looked back and saw Jimmy turn a corner behind a booth and disappear.

Sighing, Linda tried to quicken her pace, careful not to bump into anyone too hard, gritting her teeth in frustration that she just couldn't blur through everyone without exposing herself. After was seemed like an eternity, she finally turned down the same corner Jimmy had and stopped short. About a hundred feet in front of her was the door she had seen in Jimmy's photo, complete with the guard still standing watch. A group of costumed teenage boys—including Jimmy—were standing in line; she could tell they were saying something to the guard before they were allowed entry.

Linda took a deep breath and marched over, standing at the end of the line. She ignored the few teenagers who looked at her—a couple of them stared a bit **too** long—and just kept her eyes focused on the guard. She watched as the people in line showed the guard something around their necks, then the guard nodded, and the person in line was allowed through the door. The teenage girl tried not to appear impatient as the line edged closer and closer; finally, Linda reached the guard.

"Yeah?" the guard asked, folding his arms.

"Hi," Linda replied brightly, putting on her best smile. "Look, a guy just came in: he's five feet eleven, a hundred fifty-six pounds, brown hair and eyes, kinda lanky, wearing brown boots, pants, and vest over a long sleeved shirt with brown arm…things."

The guard raised an eyebrow. "You know the guy's exact weight and height?" he asked.

"Yeah, he's my friend," Linda replied. "So, can I go in and get him?" She started for the door, but the guard held out an arm, blocking her.

"I don't think so, sweetie," he said.

"Why not?" Linda asked. "I just want to get my friend."

"One, ya don't have the proper identification," the guard said.

"So, how do I get it?"

"If ya have to ask," the guard continued, "ya don't belong. Second, ya don't have the proper attire; third, yer a girl." Linda opened her mouth, but the guard stopped her, standing tall and imposing. "Scram."

Linda was sorely tempted to just bowl the guard over and bust through the door, but she knew that would only cause more problems. Frowning, she turned on her heel and marched away, muttering a barrage of Kryptonese curse words under her breath. She turned the corner at a display and stopped suddenly before nearly bumping into a tall figure.

"Excuse me, sorry," she replied as she smoothed her hair before looking at the person she'd nearly hit. He was tall—not quite as tall as Clark—but still tall enough to be imposing, and wore a simple tan sports coat over a black shirt, with jeans and black hiking boots; his brown hair was tousled slightly, but still looked nice, and he stared down at Linda with brown eyes.

"It's okay," he replied, smiling.

Linda stopped and raised an eyebrow as she really noticed his attire. "You're not in a costume?"

"Well, to be honest," the man replied, "you aren't either."

"Touché," she said. She sighed, smiling politely. "Look, uh, I'm sorry I nearly ran into you, but I have to go." She nodded and quickly stepped to the side, leaving the man alone as she made her way through the crowd before glancing at the wall clock and saw it read eight fifty. The teenager thought for a few moments, then she closed her eyes and briefly shook her head before pulling out her phone; she searched her contacts and dialed the intended number.

"Gooood morning, sunshine," Gar replied cheerfully.

"Look, I don't have time to explain," Linda said, "but I need you to listen very carefully and not freak out."

Gar paused. "What are you doing, do I need to come over, and how much trouble are you going to be in when this is over?"

"Can't tell you, later on when the chores need to be done and the animals fed, and probably a lot," Linda replied without skipping a beat.

"Whoa, hold a sec," Gar said. "Are you telling me you're not even on the farm right now?"

"Not exactly," Linda replied.

"You do realize J'onn's on his way over for your therapy."

"I'm aware of that."

"And if you aren't there when he gets there, then he's gonna try to find you—which means he's gonna come and see me."

"Most likely."

"He's the telepath, Linda. He's gonna know I know something."

"But you won't be able to tell him anything if I don't tell you what I'm doing—it's called plausible deniability."

Gar sighed. "Fine, fine," he said after a few moments. "Look, uh, whatever it is, just be careful, okay?"

"I will," Linda replied.

"And I'll make sure the chores get done and animals fed."

"Thanks, Gar."

"So, uh…I have no idea what's going on, but do you think it'll work?"

"Yeah, I'm sure," Linda replied. "I'll talk to you late. Bye." She pressed then 'end' button and tucked her phone in her back pocket. "Pretty sure, I think." She slowly looked around as she headed further into the crowd.

(End of Chapter 8)


	9. Chapter 9

Clark whistled softly as he stared intently at the skillet of raw eggs, chopped red peppers, and mushrooms on his stove; his eyes flashed briefly before heat beams shot out and engulfed the food. Soon, the gooey concoction solidified into a perfectly cooked omelet, and Clark grabbed a nearby plate; he had just finished transferring his breakfast when he heard a knock on his door. Furrowing his eyebrows, the reporter put everything down, walked from the kitchen to the front door, and opened it; a tall black man in a dark green polo shirt, black slacks under a brown trenchcoat.

"J'onn," Clark said, surprised, recognizing his friend's civilian identity. "Shouldn't you be in Smallville?" His expression shifted to worry as he realized there would only be one reason J'onn would have dropped by. "What's wrong? Where's Linda? Is she okay?"

"I'm sure Linda's fine," J'onn said calmly. "As to her whereabouts…that's an entirely different matter. May I come in?"

Clark stood aside and let J'onn in, closing the door behind him. "What's going on, J'onn?" he asked.

"I arrived at the farm at my usual time," J'onn explained, "but Linda was nowhere to be found," he saw the concerned expression on Clark's face, "and I didn't sense anything out of the ordinary: all the chores had been done, and even both of Linda's animals were sleeping soundly. I thought at first that Linda stepped out for a moment, so I called her cell phone; she didn't answer, so I waited about fifteen minutes before I visited Gar."

"And?" Clark asked.

"As soon as he saw me," J'onn continued, "his eyes grew wide, and he stammered a bit before saying 'She just asked me to do the chores if she wasn't back in time. I don't know what she's up to, I swear.'"

Clark closed in eyes in frustration. "Was he telling the truth?" he asked.

"Yes," J'onn answered, "he knows nothing, so I decided to come and see if she was with you, by any chance."

"We're not exactly talking at the moment," Clark replied, trying to keep calm, "she's mad at me for how I've been treating Jimmy since—" He stopped short, his eyes slowly growing wide. "No, no, no."

"What?" J'onn asked as Clark reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. "You think she and Jimmy are together?"

"They better not be," Clark growled slightly as he scrolled through his contacts to Linda's icon; he was about to press the number when his phone buzzed loudly, and Oliver's name appeared on the screen. Clark furrowed his eyebrows, confused, before he answered it. "Hey, Ollie, what's up?"

"Not sure, Clark," Oliver said. "I just got an alert on Linda's spending account, and I was wondering if you could look into it."

"Sure," Clark replied, relaxing a little as he looked at J'onn, mouthing 'apparently she's buying art supplies.' Suddenly, the reporter paused, confused, focusing his attention back to Oliver. "Wait a second, Ollie. I thought you set up that account so Linda could purchase her art supplies without any hassles."

"I did," Oliver replied.

"So, if she has the okay to buy art supplies," Clark said slowly, "then why do you need me to look into one of her purchases?"

"Because the purchase was for a little under a thousand dollars," Oliver said, "from a 'Mystical Illusions Costumes and Weapons' shop."

Clark raised an eyebrow, confused. "Never heard of them."

"Same here," Oliver replied. "Did a little research, found out they're based out of Georgia, but they spend a lot of time traveling to different Renaissance festivals and conventions; they're currently at the Wonder Con in Metropolis."

"But why would Linda—" Clark suddenly stopped and closed his eyes. "She didn't."

"Come again?" Oliver asked.

"Look, Ollie," Clark said, "I'll, uh, look into that purchase and get back to you as soon as I can." He hung up before Oliver could protest and sighed as he put his phone away.

"You know where she is," J'onn stated, seeing the agitated expression on his friend's face.

"She is at Wonder Con," Clark replied bluntly.

"Why would she be there?" J'onn asked.

"Because I told her about a series of murders Lois and I were investigating," Clark replied. "Young men in costumes were being murdered; S.C.U.'s been trying to keep it under wraps because of the convention."

"And you think Linda went to investigate it herself?" J'onn asked. "What would motivate her to do that?"

"Probably just to spite me," Clark muttered; he paused and sighed. "Look, uh, since you're here already, I could use your help to locate her."

"That would probably not be the best course of action at the moment," J'onn replied.

"Why not?" Clark asked, confused.

"Clark, I've spent the past month developing a level of trust with Linda as her therapist," J'onn replied. "She's confided in me a great deal of things only because of that trust. If I were present when you found her, she would see that as a betrayal, and that could undo all the things we've accomplished. I think it's best if you pursue this matter without my presence." He headed to the door and opened it, then stopped and glanced over his shoulder. "Do I need to contact your parents about Linda?"

"No," Clark replied, almost a little too quickly. "I, uh, I mean, I wouldn't want to ruin their vacation." He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I'll deal with this myself. I mean, how much trouble could Linda **really** get into at a comic book convention?" He paused, closing his eyes. "Why did I say that?"

J'onn tried not to appear amused. "Regardless of what she's up to," he said, "you can take comfort in one thing."

"What?" Clark asked.

"Given everything she's been through recently," J'onn answered, "it is a bit refreshing to see her acting like a normal teenager," he raised an eyebrow slightly, "just like her cousin used to."

"That's what worries me," Clark replied wryly.

* * *

"Final two contestants," the black-clad announcer shouted over the din, "take your places!" A young man in his early twenties, with dark hair and a matching goatee, entered the ring. He wore a black, long-sleeved shirt under a black gambeson, matching pants, belt, and boots; a long sheath was tied at his side. Everyone watched the second contestant, shrouded in black hooded cloak, walk onto the stage, stopping on the other side of the ring and facing the first contestant. The newcomer untied the neck clasp and lowered the hood, allowing the cloak fall to the floor; the cacophony of noise suddenly stopped, as if a switch had been thrown.

Linda knew all eyes were on her as she stood in the ring, wearing a sleeveless, brown, lace-up leather corset; form-fitting, hunter green, leather pants; and brown, knee-high lace up boots. A pair of long knives in sheaths strapped to her back and a pair of leather brown bracers with lace up closures, completed her ensemble She tucked a strand of long red hair behind a pointed ear, trying to ignore the alien feel of both the wig and prosthetics, hoping both were secure.

"Hey, Tauriel," the other combatant said, smirking, "I think I saw some Orcs near Exhibit Hall A." Some of the people in the crowd laughed, but Linda ignored them as she stared at her opponent; he noticed her neutral expression and snorted as he looked at the announcer. "Seriously, you want me to fight **her**?"

Linda inwardly fumed, fighting everything in her that told her to just punch the guy, so she simply returned the smirk. "Aw, are we being chivalrous," she asked, finding her voice, "or do you only prefer to bring out your sword for other guys?" She heard the smattering of 'oohs' from the crowd as her opponent's smirk disappeared, replaced by an enraged expression as he withdrew his sword from his sheath. "Guess I struck a nerve."

"You'll have more than a nerve struck by the time I'm finished with you," her opponent growled. He didn't even wait for the announcer as he quickly raised his sword over his head and charged the young girl.

Linda's expression didn't falter, nor did she unsheathe her weapons, as she quickly calculated her options before wordlessly charging the young man. When they were about ten feet apart, she suddenly dropped to the ground, sliding feet first through his legs like a baseball player sliding into home; she quickly jumped to her feet before her opponent skittered to a stop and quickly turned to face her, swinging his sword. The teenage girl crouched to the ground and smoothly spun around, using her leg to sweep the guy's legs out; he fell to his back as she quickly righted herself.

Linda heard the whoops and hollers from the crowd, but she kept her focus on her opponent, standing still and allowing her opponent to get back to his feet. He rubbed his head, shaking it slightly, then he slowly looked up at the young girl.

"So, you gonna strike that nerve," she asked, smirking as she crossed his arms, "or you wanna keep dancing?"

The young man's face turned crimson as he growled loudly and raised his sword. He charged once again, swinging wild and low, but Linda remained unfazed as she ran toward him. Thinking back to her altercation with Hawkman last month, Linda leapt into the air, grabbing the hilt of her opponent's sword as she flipped over him; she easily landed behind him as he stopped in his tracks. The crowd watched in stunned silence as Linda pivoted on her left foot, swinging her body and the weapon around; she suddenly stopped as the blade of his weapon touched his left cheek.

"Still think a girl can't hold her own," Linda asked with a low edge, her expression intense, "or do we need to go a little longer?"

Any trace of anger was gone from the young man's face as he stood still, swallowing nervously; he kept his arms down as he glanced sideways at the blade against his face. "No," he said quietly, trying to keep his voice steady, his heart pounding, "I'm good."

"Smart move," Linda replied, allowing herself a small smirk. She lowered the sword and shifted it in her hands, holding it out to her opponent. The young man, glowering, wordlessly took back his weapon, sheathing it; the young girl turned to retrieve her cloak.

"Bitch," she heard the man mutter, followed by the sounds of a scuffle. By the time she'd turned around, her opponent lay on the floor, clutching his right jaw. Linda raised an eyebrow as she stared at a figure towering over the young man, his right fist clenched. The newcomer had tousled, dirty blond hair and wore a medieval long-sleeved, brown leather jacket, brown trousers, and matching boots; a sword and sheath hung from his hip.

"You may not like the fact that you lost to a girl, mate," he said with edge, his voice laced with a thick, British accent, "but that doesn't mean you get to insult her, either. I believe an apology is in order."

"And if I don't?" the other man snarked, glaring.

The British man grabbed the handle of his sword. "Then perhaps you and I can go one round on our own," he simply replied, pulling it halfway out. Linda glanced at her opponent, who stared at the British man for a moment before looking over at her.

"Sorry," he said to the teenager, making no attempt at sincerity.

"Good," the British man replied, "now, piss off."

The man in black wordlessly scrambled to his feet, clutching his sword as he hurried out of the ring and down the corridor leading to the exit. With no need to announce the winner, the spectators dispersed as the British man put his sword back in its place before turning around; the intensity in his blue eyes softened as he walked over to Linda. "My sincerest apologies."

"Thank you," Linda replied before picking up her cloak, "but you didn't need to do that; that wasn't the first time I've been called that." As she pulled her cloak around her shoulders and fastened it securely, she scanned the departing crowd; after a couple of seconds, she spotted Jimmy, in his costume, walking among the others. Her eyes widened slightly as she watched him casually duck, unnoticed, down a small corridor.

"Doesn't make it right," the British man continued. "Where I come from, only tossers insult women; the rest of us know better," he smiled with amusement, "especially when the woman in question could very easily drop you on on your arse." He held out his hand. "Ulysses Armstrong."

"Camaeneth," Linda replied distractedly, reflexively putting her hand in his.

Armstrong gently pulled her hand upward and planted a soft kiss on the top. "'Skilled hand,'" he said with amusement, caressing the base of her fingers with his thumb. "It suits you."

Linda's heart fluttered slightly, and she felt her cheeks grow warm. "Thank you," she replied, trying to keep her voice steady as she gently extracted her hand from his; she briefly glanced at the corridor Jimmy had disappeared down, trying to stay focused on her why she was really there.

"I hope you don't think me too forward," Armstrong continued, "but I have to say I was very impressed by how you handled yourself in the ring. I set up an office nearby, and I really think you and I should talk."

"You have an office in the sewers?" Linda asked, raising an eyebrow.

"In the loosest sense of the word," Armstrong answered. "It's not much, but it offers privacy so I can conduct my business without everyone looking over my shoulder."

"So, you're in charge, then?" Linda asked, intrigued.

"You could say that," Armstrong replied.

"Sir?" Both Armstrong and Linda looked over as the announcer came over.

"Yes?" Armstrong asked, annoyed at the interruption.

"There's a call for you on Line One," the announcer said, giving him a look. "It's important."

Armstrong sighed, then he glanced at Linda and smiled slightly. "I apologize," he replied, "but I'm afraid I have to take care of this"

"I understand," Linda replied.

"I should only be a few moments," Armstrong said, "then we can continue our discussion." He bowed at the waist before turning and walking away with the announcer following. Linda watched as they headed down another corridor before turning and leaving the ring.

(End of Chapter 9)


	10. Chapter 10

Jimmy was thankful for the lighting—dim as it was—as he stepped carefully over a small pile of garbage and other filth, checking over his shoulder every few minutes. Satisfied he wasn't being followed, the photographer relaxed a little as he made the way down the corridor, glancing left and right; after a few moments, he stopped and stared at some discolored bricks near the entrance to a side corridor. Keeping his eye on the area, he carefully walked over, using his hand to wipe the grime from the wall, getting a better look; an unusual symbol had been etched into the brick.

"Hello, **Sweetie**."

Jimmy stiffened when he heard the anger-laced feminine voice; his heart pounding in his chest, he nervously swallowed as he slowly turned his head. A cloaked figure stood about twenty feet away, her face hidden by the shadow from her hood; the dim light illuminated her front, allowing Jimmy to see the hunter green pants, brown corset, and braces.

 _Crap_ , Jimmy thought to himself, trying to remain calm. He had watched the girl earlier in the ring, and the photographer had to admit he had been impressed by her fighting skills—and extremely worried at the thought of having to actually fight her himself. "I, uh, think you might have me mistaken for someone else," he said slowly, hoping she'd leave.

"No, I found **exactly** who I was looking for," the girl retorted as she pulled back her hood, revealing a hard set expression and a pair of vivid blue eyes full of anger.

Jimmy's eyes widened in shock. "Linda?" he asked in disbelief. "What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same thing," Linda retorted as she marched over to him.

"How did you even find me?" Jimmy asked, slightly defensive as he got over his shock. "You didn't scan my mind last night, did you?"

"No, I didn't," Linda answered, bristling a bit, insulted. "I saw the photos you left on your desk. You'd written on some of them, and I put two and two together."

"Why were you even in my room?" Jimmy asked.

"You left your favorite jacket at my house last night," Linda replied. "I tried calling and texting you this morning, but when you didn't respond, I went by your apartment to drop it off. You weren't there, so I kinda…let myself in so I could leave it in your room; I saw the photos and tried calling you— **again** —but you'd left your phone on your bed."

"So, instead of going home," Jimmy said, "you came looking for me?"

"Yeah," Linda replied, "and since Clark mentioned the Wonder Con yesterday, I figured it was a good place to start."

"Whoa, you told Clark I went AWOL?" Jimmy asked, incredulously.

"Are you kidding?" Linda answered. "I only told Gar I might need him to do the chores later on if I wasn't back in time, but I didn't tell him why or anything like that. That way J'onn wouldn't be able to track me down once he figured out I wasn't on the farm for our therapy session…or in Smallville." She shrugged. "I'm sure he's already talked to Clark, but I can't be sure if he'd tell our parents—yet."

"So, let me get this straight," Jimmy said, "you left Smallville without telling anyone where you were just so you could find me?"

"I wouldn't have had to if **you** hadn't gone under the radar yourself," Linda retorted.

"That's different," Jimmy said.

"Don't give me that 'I work for the Daily Planet, it's my job,' spiel," Linda said, folding her arms. "I hate it when it comes from Clark, and I **really** don't need to hear it coming from you."

"And I don't want you to get hurt again!" Jimmy retorted.

Linda saw Jimmy's eyes flicker with embarrassment before he focused back at the symbol; she sighed. "When are you going to stop doing this?" she asked, trying not to sound too frustrated.

"What?" Jimmy muttered.

"You know what," Linda replied. "You're still blaming yourself for what happened last month. That's why you didn't tell me what you were planning," she took a deep breath, "and that's why you didn't give me that necklace I also saw on your desk." Jimmy stiffened but didn't turn around, and Linda took a step closer, her features softening. "Jimmy, why—"

"Because I'm tired of something happening to you every time we get together," Jimmy interrupted, "that's why." He took a deep breath as he turned and faced her. "Look, I know the whole thing with the bracelet and Toyman wasn't my fault, but it doesn't mean it's not going to bother me if something bad happens to you—powers or no powers."

"I appreciate the concern," Linda replied, "but I am more than capable of handling myself."

"Linda, there's more than a few simple murders going on here," Jimmy said, his expression turning serious as his voice dropped.

"What are you talking about?" Linda asked.

"I mean, I did a little digging on the S.C.U.'s database," Jimmy answered. "Turns out, they weren't being totally honest about the murders—starting with how many there actually were."

Linda furrowed her eyebrows and folded her arms. "How many were there?"

"About seven," Jimmy replied, "that they're aware of."

"Why would the S.C.U. keep them a secret?" Linda asked.

"Probably because of the condition of the bodies," Jimmy answered. "All of the victims had been mauled by a large animal or something."

"Are you sure?" Linda asked.

"Saw the autopsy photos myself," Jimmy replied, looking a little nauseated. "Trust me, there's something very dangerous down here."

"And I'm assuming you didn't give this information to Clark," Linda said, "or Lois or Chloe or Mr. White." Jimmy's expression spoke volumes. "And knowing this, you still came down here by yourself without telling anyone what you were doing?"

"Yeah," Jimmy replied. Linda smacked his arm, frowning. "Ow!" He gingerly rubbed the sore spot. "That hurt."

"Serves you right," Linda said. "Look, if there's really some…thing here, I'm staying to help," Jimmy opened his mouth, but Linda stopped him, "and you know there's really nothing you can do to stop me, so just suck it up, okay?"

Jimmy just stared at her, stunned, then he slowly smiled a little. "Yes, ma'am," he replied.

Linda gave him a withering expression. "Just remember you and I are scheduled to fight each other later," she replied, amused, "and you know what I'm capable of."

Jimmy grinned, then his smile slowly faded into a look of slight terror. "But you'll go easy on me, right?" he asked. Linda's amused expression disappeared as she folded her arms, staring right at him; the photographer swallowed nervously. "Okay." Trying to distract himself, he turned back to the symbol, examining it.

"So, what are you looking at?" Linda asked, peering closer. "I saw that symbol in one of the photos you took of the dead guy."

"Yeah," Jimmy replied. "All the guys who'd died had a pendant with that symbol on it around their neck." He reached under his shirt and pulled out a similar clay pendant. "It's also the only way to get into this thing in the first place."

Linda reached under her corset and pulled out her own clay pendant with the symbol. "I know."

"Where did you get that?" Jimmy asked, surprised.

"Let's just say I found a guy wearing one," Linda replied, shifting a little, embarrassed, "and I was able to distract him long enough to…borrow it…without him knowing about it."

Jimmy raised an eyebrow. "How did you—" he glanced down briefly at her outfit, then chuckled a little, "nevermind."

"This was the tamest outfit I could find in such short notice," Linda insisted, "and I really looked—believe me."

Jimmy was about to say something snarky, but then he saw Linda's frustrated and embarrassed expression; he sighed. "Hey," he said softly, "look, uh, I know you don't like how some guys look at you—I don't either—but, for what it's worth, I think you look really great."

Linda knew he was being sincere and smiled a little. "Thanks."

"The pointy ears add a nice touch, too," Jimmy added, amused.

"They came with the costume, okay?" Linda replied, blushing almost as red as the wig on her head. "Can we focus on something else—like where you got **your** pendant?"

"You're not the only one with artistic talent," Jimmy replied, smugly. He saw Linda's expression shift as she narrowed her eyes briefly, and the photographer almost grinned. "Look, let's just figure this out, okay?"

"So, the symbol on our pendants," Linda said, "and the wall…does it really represent 'maze'?"

"Pretty sure," Jimmy replied, "though, what it **means** I'm not sure, yet." He squinted his eyes as he peered down the corridor, seeing a solid metal door blocking the tunnel about a hundred feet away. "Can you see what's behind that door?"

Linda stared at the door, focusing, and switched to her x-ray vision. She furrowed her eyebrows when the door didn't dissolve; to the contrary, the solid 'wall' appeared to extend to the side, creating an impenetrable barrier. She sighed, frustrated, as she switched back to normal vision.

"Lead?" Jimmy asked, recognizing her expression.

"Yeah," Linda replied.

"Guess we'll have to do this the old-fashioned way," Jimmy said. He took Linda's hand, and the two entered the corridor. As they made their way slowly down the corridor, they glanced from side to side, but couldn't see anything out of the ordinary, although Linda could smell the stench of raw sewage growing more potent.

Halfway down, something caught Jimmy's eye, and he glanced over, furrowing his eyebrows; he stopped short, his eyes widening a bit. "Linda, look."

Linda glanced over, confused, then she saw what Jimmy was staring at; her mouth opened slightly. Three smooth claw marks, each over two feet long and two inches wide, were gouged about an inch into the brick; the teenagers glanced over and saw similar claw marks on the right side of the corridor, then alternating walls every few feet all the way down to the door.

"What the hell made these?" Jimmy asked softly, stunned.

"Probably the thing that killed those other people," Linda replied, just as soft.

"I was thinking an alligator or something like that," Jimmy said. "Whatever made these marks is something…else."

Linda stared at the claw marks, thinking. "Jimmy, I think we need to get some help," she said.

"Yeah," Jimmy agreed. The two turned and quickly headed back the way they came.

As they approached the entrance, all the sounds around Linda faded until she heard only the echoing thuds of multiple footsteps, mixed with a few masculine voices, approaching; the teenager stopped suddenly and tilted her head, focusing on the noise.

Jimmy glanced over, confused. "Linda?"

"Shh," Linda replied, trying to hone in on one of the sound. Everything was slightly garbled, but the young girl recognized one of the voices: it was the announcer; she switched back to her normal hearing and glanced at Jimmy, worried. "We got company." She saw Jimmy's face pale a little, and Linda could see he was mentally panicking while trying to appear calm. The young girl suddenly thought of something, and she closed her eyes briefly, taking a quickly breath and letting it out before looking at Jimmy. "Kiss me."

"What?" Jimmy asked, confused.

Linda gently shoved Jimmy against the wall, pinning him by his shoulders, before leaning in, kissing him hard on the lips. Jimmy gave a muffled squeak of surprise, squirming a little, but he quickly recovered as Linda deepened the kiss, moving her arms around his neck; the photographer moved his hands slowly around her waist, pulling her even closer.

The sound of a someone clearing their throat jarred the teenagers from their stupor, and they quickly pulled back; Jimmy saw Linda's eyes flash orange very briefly as they wordlessly stared at each other.

"What are you two doing here?"

Jimmy and Linda looked over and saw the announcer standing outside the entrance, frowning at them, his arms crossed; he was flanked on both sides by a couple more men, also decked out in medieval garb.

"Just trying to get to know the competition a little better," Linda replied, smiling sweetly; she glanced back at Jimmy, grinning.

Jimmy was a little confused at first, then he realized what Linda was up to. "Yeah," he replied casually as he kept his arms around her waist, "we were just having a nice conversation. Is that a problem?"

"This area's off limits," the announcer replied.

"I didn't see anything saying 'keep out,'" Linda said.

"But we'll leave," Jimmy added before looking at Linda. "I know somewhere private where we can continue this." Keeping an arm around her waist, he led her toward the entrance.

"I don't think that'll be necessary." The teenagers stopped when they heard the familiar British accent resonate through the corridor; they watched as Armstrong stepped into view, stopping in front of the announcer and staring at the teenagers with a hard expression. "You two seem to be pretty chummy already."

"What are you talking about?" Jimmy asked, pretending to be confused. "She and I just met after she fought that other guy. I thought she was pretty hot and suggested we go somewhere private and go a few rounds of our own; she agreed, so we snuck off here."

Armstrong chuckled. "Tell me, did you two rehearse this before coming," he asked, "or just decide to wing it?" He saw the teenagers' confused expressions and nodded his head to a spot above their heads; the two looked up and saw the small security camera attached to the corner of the ceiling just inside the corridor. Jimmy and Linda glanced at each other nervously, knowing their charade was over. "Take them to my office."

(End of Chapter 10)


	11. Chapter 11

The small room serving as Armstrong's office was just as insignificant as he'd told Linda earlier: it was bare, save for a small desk covered with papers, a metal money box, and a small land line phone; a chair; a file cabinet; and a table pushed against the opposite wall with a row of surveillance screens of the different corridors. Armstrong leaned against the front of the desk and stared at Jimmy and Linda as the two teens stood in front of him, their arms tied behind them; Armstrong's men were positioned behind them, while the announcer leaned against the filing cabinet, arms folded, smirking.

"So, who are?" he said, glancing between the teenagers; neither of them spoke, so Armstrong stood up. "I don't think either of you quite understand the severity of the situation: I saw you purposefully heading down a corridor is off limits; you were looking for something, so make it easy on yourselves and I might let you live."

"You want information," Jimmy replied, frowning, "check your damn footage; we're not telling you anything."

"I would," Armstrong answered, "but, unfortunately, those cameras only record video—no audio—which means you two had better start talking."

[Is he telling the truth?]

Linda heard the worry in Jimmy's voice and knew why he was concerned. [Yeah, don't worry; he doesn't know anything.] "And if we don't?" she asked aloud, fighting every urge to just snap her binds and knock everyone out, starting with Armstrong.

Armstrong stared at her for a few moments before wordlessly walking over to the back of his desk; he opened one of the drawers and pulled out a long hunting knife; he closed the drawer and walked back over to Linda, gripping the handle tightly. "I'll be very upset."

Linda looked right at the cold, empty eyes staring at her, unfazed by the familiar expression she had seen in her father's eyes all her life. "You think that's going to scare me?" she asked, the corners of her lips curling ever so slightly.

"When I was younger," Armstrong replied, his voice low, "my family was so scared of me they sent me to a military academy, thinking it would subdue my thirst for violence; all it did was allow it to flourish…until I eventually burned the whole damned place—and all the bastards in it—to the ground. I even went back later and killed my family the same way."

"So, that's why you're running around in the sewers playing 'Dungeons and Dragons Meets Fight Club'?" Jimmy asked. "Trying to satiate that bloodlust with unsuspecting victims?"

"Let's get one thing straight," Armstrong replied as he walked over to Jimmy, getting in his face, "I don't 'play,'" he glanced back at Linda, his serious expression replaced with a twisted smile as he walked back to her; he the tip of the blade along her cheek, "although I'm looking forward to making an exception with you." He traced the blade down along her skin until he came to the cords of the cloak, securely tied around her her. "I meant what I said earlier about being impressed with your fighting skills; I don't impress easily."

"Let me guess," Linda said, "you'll spare my life if I agree to join you."

"No," Armstrong answered without hesitation. "I only surround myself with those loyal to me, and you've shown you can't be trusted. I'm still going to kill you." He moved the blade under the cords and cut them; Linda's cloak fell to the ground at her feet, and Armstrong looked her up and down, appreciatively. "I'm just going to have a little fun before I do."

"You lay a hand on her," Jimmy growled through clenched teeth, "and I'll kill you myself, you son of a bitch."

Armstrong calmly walked over to Jimmy and stared at the photographer; without warning, he punched the teenager in the stomach. Jimmy's stomach exploded with pain as he felt the wind knocked out of him; he fell to his knees, groaning and coughing.

"Leave him alone!" Linda shouted as she stepped toward Jimmy, but stopped as Armstrong deftly held up the knife at eye level, inches from her face.

"Stay where you are," he replied, fixing her with a cold stare, "or I won't hesitate to mar that pretty face right now."

Linda glared at him and opened her mouth, but—

[Linda, don't, I'm fine.] The young girl glanced at Jimmy, who fixed his eyes with hers. [Please, don't expose yourself.]

The young girl was tempted to ignore him, but she saw the pleading look in Jimmy's eyes as he was hoisted back to his feet; she took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, calming down a little. Armstrong's phone rang, and the young man kept his eyes on Linda for a few moments before lowering his weapon and going to his desk; he answered the phone on the third ring.

"What?" he asked, annoyed.

Linda quickly focused her hearing, picking up the voice coming from the phone. _"You promised me a demonstration_ ," she heard a garbled voice said.

"I already told you," Armstrong replied, "you'll get it. I was just about to put the guy in."

" _I want the girl, too_ ," the caller insisted.

"You'll have her, eventually," Armstrong said, glancing at Linda with a smirk, "after I'm finished with her."

" _No_ ," the voice replied. " _I want to see her while she's at her full potential and undamaged_."

"Need I remind you who provided you with all the potentials for your experiments?" Armstrong said through clenched teeth. "I think I'm entitled to calling a few shots."

" _Need I remind_ _ **you**_ _who my employer is_?" the voice retorted. " _He provided you with_ _ **everything**_ _you needed to set this up; you owe all of this to him; you don't get to call_ _ **any**_ _shots._ " Armstrong didn't say anything, but his features hardened, his jaw clenched. " _Put them both in. Now._ " Linda switched back to normal hearing after the the caller hung up.

Armstrong stared at his phone for several moments before slamming the receiver down, sending papers scattering. Linda glanced down and saw a one sheet with a weird symbol on top and quickly shifted her focus and zoomed in for a closer look; her eyes widened slightly when she saw a familiar stylized DNA in the letterhead on one of the sheets.

"Take them to the entrance," Armstrong spoke up, startling Linda; she returned her vision to normal and glanced at Armstrong. "I'll be there in a moment." He watched the guards lead his prisoners from the office, leaving the announcer alone with his boss.

The announcer saw the expression on Armstrong's face. "Too bad, sir," he said, standing up straight and walking over to his boss. "I know how much you were looking forward to your one-on-one with her." He shrugged, smirking a bit. "Still, all things considered, it might be more fun watching the little bitch and her boyfriend get ripped to shreds, instead." Armstrong suddenly whirled around, and the announcer heard a sickening sound—like metal being plunged into a watermelon; he gave a little lurch, his face contorting, as a gurgle escaped his lips.

"Apparently, you didn't hear me proper earlier today, mate," Armstrong growled as he leaned in close to his subordinate. "No one insults a woman around me. Do I make myself clear?" The announcer gurgled again, but wouldn't—or couldn't—speak. Armstrong gave his employee a twisted smile. "Good." He wordlessly walked away, heading out of the office without glancing behind him.

The announcer stared in disbelief as his boss walked away before slowly looking down. The handle of the long knife Armstrong had been holding earlier was clearly visible, the blade completely embedded in the announcer's stomach. Blood stained his clothes and hands as tried pulling the knife out, but he couldn't even get a good grip; his eyes rolled back before he collapsed to the filthy floor.

* * *

The two guards kept tight grips on the two prisoners as they turned a corner, heading back down the corridor where they had confronted Jimmy and Linda earlier. As they walked silently, Jimmy and Linda found their attention drawn to the claw marks once again, trying to figure out what could have made them, but they didn't have any possibilities; they stopped in front of the lead door.

"Well, here we are," Armstrong answered as he joined the group.

Linda saw the blood on Armstrong's hand and furrowed her eyebrows; she knew it hadn't been there earlier. "Where's your friend?" she asked, even though she'd already guessed.

"Let's just say he's never going to be insulting another woman ever again," Armstrong replied casually. He saw the expressions on the teenagers' faces and raised an eyebrow, amused. "Like I said earlier, I don't care for tossers insulting women."

"So you kill him?" Linda snarked. Armstrong shrugged, unremorseful. "You know, you got a twisted sense of standards: you kill people who insult women, but when one gets in your way you have no problem killing **her**."

"All's fair in war, love," Armstrong replied as he walked over to her, "but, if it's any consolation, I do feel bad about having to take you out of the equation; I could've used someone like you working for me."

"I guess it's a good thing you're killing me," Linda spat, "because I would **never** work for you."

"Well, then, at least we'll have today," Armstrong replied before smirking, "and this." He roughly grabbed her shoulders and leaned toward her.

Linda knew what he was going to do and craned her head to the side. "Try it," she threatened, "and I'll bite your tongue off." Armstrong stared at her for a few moments, but Linda kept her eyes locked with his, glaring; a few moments passed before he burst into laughter, and Jimmy and Linda glanced at each other, a little unnerved.

Armstrong approached the door, and the teenagers noticed a small keypad near a handle. They watched him enter a four-digit code; the sound of loud clicks of the locking mechanism echoed down the corridor after the combination was entered. Armstrong grabbed the handle and pulled with all his strength, allowing the door to slowly open; the corridor continued on the other side, lined on both sides with more hanging lights and security cameras evenly spaced.

"Untie them," Armstrong ordered his men. The two guards pulled small knives from their belts and cut through the teenagers' binds, freeing them. "Get in." Linda and Jimmy glared at at Armstrong as they wordlessly walked through the doorway. "Oh, and if you're wondering why you get to keep your weapons," he shrugged, "I'm not a total monster…unlike what you're about to face." He started pushing the door closed.

"So, why 'maze,'?" Jimmy asked, causing Armstrong to pause. "What's the big deal about that symbol?"

Armstrong raised an eyebrow, smiling a little. "Actually, think of it more as a labyrinth." He pushed hard, shutting the door completely; the teenagers heard the clicks of the locking mechanisms before everything went silent.

"So," Jimmy said after a few moments, looking around, "now what?"

"Not sure," Linda replied as she glanced around; she glanced at one of the cameras. "I'd like to know exactly who's watching us right now." An ear-splitting roar filled the empty corridor, rattling both teenagers; they froze and stared down the passage, eyes wide. "What was that?"

Jimmy opened his mouth but stopped when he felt a slight ground tremor. He glanced at Linda, and he could tell by her expression that she'd felt it as well; a few moments passed before they felt another tremor.

"If I make a reference to 'Jurassic Park' right now," Jimmy said softly, "will it totally go over your head?"

"Cool movie," Linda replied, keeping her eyes forward, "even if it was scientifically inaccurate, so no."

Jimmy glanced at her, smiling slightly, almost relieved; he looked down the corridor again, and his smile faded as his eyes widened when he saw a large silhouette approaching.

"Please tell me that's not a dinosaur," Linda replied seriously, tensing.

The large figure walked into the light, allowing the teenagers a perfect view: the thing was at least eight feet tall, covered in scaly skin that gave it a rock-like appearance; large, pale yellow claws extended from its powerful fingers and toes, while similar spikes protruded from the top of its head, chin, shoulders, and the back of the hands. It stared at the teenagers with beady black eyes before snarling, revealing a set of very large—and sharp—teeth.

"No," Jimmy said, "but I think we located the Minotaur."

(End of Chapter 11)


	12. Chapter 12

The creature roared again, shaking the walls and causing Jimmy and Linda to take a step back. Linda furrowed her eyebrows before glancing at the nearest six security cameras; she squinted slightly, and her eyes flashed orange briefly before bursts of heat shot out. They hit the nearest camera, melting it; five more bursts of heat quickly disabled the rest. The young girl glanced over her shoulder and thrust her hand at the lead door; a hole large enough for a person to easily pass through was blasted into the metal, almost as if a cannonball had been fired through it.

"Go," Linda said to Jimmy as she pulled her knives from their sheaths and crouched low, facing the creature as it lumbered slowly toward them.

"Not without you," Jimmy replied.

"I'll be fine," Linda said.

Jimmy brandished his sword. "Then let me help."

"Are you kidding?" Linda asked as she looked at him, frowning. "You told me yourself this thing has shredded people to ribbons. Last time I checked, you're not invincible."

"Neither are you," Jimmy retorted.

"No, but I'm a lot more durable than you," Linda replied as she grabbed his arm and pulled him toward the hole, "and while I appreciate the concern, this is not the time to debate it. Go!"

Jimmy opened his mouth, but he decided against it; his expression softened a little. "Be careful," he said.

"I'll be fine," Linda reassured him. She watched as Jimmy disappeared through the hole, then she turned back to face the creature. "I hope." She took a deep breath, her expression determined, and raised her knives before blurring forward.

* * *

Jimmy carefully eased himself through the large hole, then stopped short when he saw Armstrong and his men standing on the other side of the door, shocked. Armstrong glanced at the door before looking back at Jimmy, and the teenager knew Armstrong was looked as if he was going to demand what happened; the young man's expression morphed into a smirk as he chuckled.

"So, you talk the big talk," Armstrong said, sneering, "but when the big moment comes, you leave your girl to save your own skin."

"I would worry more about yourself," Jimmy replied, glaring. "It's over, Armstrong."

"You think just because you won a single fight," Armstrong said with amusement, "you have what it takes to stop me on your own?" Jimmy responded by holding up his sword and assuming a defensive posture. Armstrong's smile vanished, replaced with a cold, deadly expression, as he calmly withdrew his own sword; his guards also drew their weapons, and Armstrong took a step forward. "Your funeral, mate."

A loud, ear-piercing roar shook the entire tunnel, and everyone glanced over at the lead door, their eyes wide, when an object came hurtling through the metal, enlarging the hole, and zoomed over their heads; they all watched as Linda slammed to the ground, splashing water and filth as she rolled about ten feet before stopping. The young girl groaned softly as she carefully stood, and Jimmy couldn't help but notice that her ears and wig still securely attached; red flecks on her face, torso, and arms reflected light from the hanging lamps above her, and Jimmy almost freaked—then he noticed the top half of her blades were covered in blood. He glanced back at the remains of the door, and saw the creature standing just inside the remains of the damaged barrier. Its face, arms, torso, and legs were covered in deep slash marks; all the wounds were deep, and bleeding profusely. The photographer raised in eyebrows, eyes wide, clearly impressed.

"Nice job," he said lamely.

"It would've been nicer if I'd manage to do anything besides piss it off," Linda replied through gritted teeth.

Armstrong stared at the monster for a few moments before staring at Linda; aside from her tousled hair and stained clothing, she was unscathed. "Who the bloody hell are you?" he asked in an astonished voice.

Linda glared at him and opened her mouth, but she was interrupted as the monster suddenly bellowed loudly and squeezed through the gaping hole in the remains of the door before charging the group.

Armstrong shoved his men forward before turning and running in the opposite direction as fast as he could; Jimmy frowned and wasted no time in bolting after him, gripping his sword tightly.

Linda started to follow but stopped when she heard the terrified shouts behind her. She turned her head and saw the creature hoist the two guards up by their necks; the young girl didn't need enhanced hearing to pick up the sounds of bones snapping. She watched, her eyes wide in disbelief, as the creature tossed their lifeless bodies aside like ragdolls; they slammed into the sides of the tunnel and fell limply to the ground, unmoving. The creature then turned to face Linda, eliciting a deep growl, as if to challenge her to make a move against it.

Linda's eyes narrowed, and she gripped the handles of her weapons tightly as she crouched low. "This ends now," she growled before launching herself at the monster.

* * *

Armstrong's boots slipped occasionally on the wet concrete, but he kept a tight grip of his sword as he ran down the barely-lit corridor, heading toward the entrance. He was less than fifty feet away when he was tackled from behind; his sword knocked from his hand, Armstrong and his attacker fell to the ground, rolling a few times before Armstrong found himself on his back, pinned by Jimmy. The young photographer gripped Armstrong's shirt with his left hand, his expression full of rage as he raised his right hand in a tight fist; he hit Armstrong hard.

"You're finished," he replied through clenched teeth, hitting Armstrong once more. "You're never going to hurt anyone else again!"

"Is this really about them," Armstrong spat as Jimmy raised his fist, "or her?" Jimmy paused with his fist raised, and Armstrong grinned, despite the blood pouring from his nose and mouth. "We've both seen what she can do, mate; it's something special, ain't it?"

"This has nothing to do with her," Jimmy growled, preparing to strike again.

"Oh, I think it does," Armstrong replied. "That's why **you** came out before she did, and—I'm willing to bet—if I had actually tried anything with her, she would've managed just fine without the need for your interference."

"Shut up," Jimmy growled.

"I mean," Armstrong continued, shrugging slightly, "I can **definitely** see why my employer was so keen on seeing her in action."

"I said shut up," Jimmy replied, raising his fist higher.

Armstrong smirked. "You know what's truly pathetic, mate?" he asked. "You're so desperate to be her protector that you won't accept the fact that doesn't even **need** you."

Jimmy's face contorted in anger as he slammed his fist down, but Armstrong quickly maneuvered and grabbed the teenager's hand; he twisted it hard before balling up his other hand and slamming it into Jimmy's face.

Jimmy fell backward, allowing Armstrong to scramble for his sword; the teenager recovered from the surprise attack and saw Armstrong advancing toward him; he quickly got to his feet as Armstrong swung his weapon. Jimmy barely dodged the blade, backing up and glancing from left to right, trying to find his own sword; the light glistened on the metal blade about ten feet to his left, and the teenager calculated his odds.

"The sporting thing," Armstrong said, "would be for me to let you fight with your own weapon. I mean, after all, I did allow you to keep it when you were facing that monster, and I did say I wasn't a monster myself." Keeping his blade trained on Jimmy, he walked over and picked up the other sword before going back to his spot; he examined the sword carefully for a few seconds. "Impressive, but there's just one problem."

"What?" Jimmy asked, remaining tense.

Armstrong stared straight at the teenager, his expression neutral. "I lied," he simply replied before swinging his blade hard at Jimmy's midsection.

Jimmy felt a sharp pain in his stomach and looked down to see blood seeping through his shirt, spreading outward. He quickly put his hands over the wound, staring up at Armstrong in disbelief as the strength quickly gave out in his legs; he collapsed to the ground, clutching his stomach, breathing hard, sweat beading on his face as he leaned against the wall of the corridor. He saw the front of his shirt grow darker with more blood before glancing up as Armstrong stood over him, sword raised.

"Like I said," Armstrong replied, "pathetic." Jimmy closed his eyes, tensing for the fatal blow, before five claps of thunder echoed loudly in the corridor. Jimmy opened his eyes in surprise and looked up at his attacker. Armstrong still had his sword raised, but his expression had changed to stunned disbelief as he slowly glanced down—and that's when Jimmy saw the five gaping bullet wounds in Armstrong's chest—blood oozing from them.

"Bugger," Armstrong said before dropping both swords; they clattered to ground before the he collapsed face-first into the rancid filth and didn't move.

Fighting the desire to close his eyes, his breathing rapid and shallow, hands wet and sticky from his own blood, Jimmy slowly glanced over and saw a large figure approaching from the direction of the entrance, a smoking Glock in his right hand. As the figure grew closer and knelt beside him, Jimmy stared, his expression a mixture of shock and weakness.

"You," he said softly.

"Yep," the figure simply replied before raising his left wrist, revealing what appeared to be a black wristwatch; he pressed a couple of buttons on it before lowering it again.

"That's…impossible," Jimmy replied. He heard a loud whooshing sound and glanced over to see Linda—her clothes spattered with blood, her red hair tousled—approach and kneel on his other side, a horrified expression on her face. "Hey."

"What happened?" Linda asked, her voice slightly panicky, as she looked down, trying not to freak out at seeing his front covered with blood.

"I'm fine," Jimmy said, his voice ragged; he tried smiling, but it came out as a grimace. "'Tis but a flesh wound.'"

"This isn't funny," Linda replied, trying to keep her composure. "I gotta get you to the hospital."

"I've already radioed for an ambulance," the figure said calmly.

"That's great and all," Linda replied as she looked over, "but I could—" She stopped, her eyes slowly widening, as she recognized the tall man with the tan sports coat, slightly-tousled brown hair, and brown eyes. "You." She glanced over at Armstrong's lifeless body, then looked warily back over at the man in time to see him holster his weapon.

"If Jimmy's wound was life-threatening," the man replied calmly, "I would have no problem letting you zip him off to the hospital, but, thankfully, it isn't, which means Jimmy's going to be fine, and your anonymity, Miss Kent, will still be kept intact. I'm sure your cousin and parents will be thankful for that."

Linda's heart skipped a beat and her stomach turned to ice as she stared at the man in concerned disbelief. "Who are you?" she asked softly.

"His name is James Olsen," Jimmy mumbled, keeping his eyes on the man kneeling beside him. "He's my father."

(End of Chapter 12)


	13. Chapter 13

Jimmy lay in the small bed of a private room at Metropolis General; he was tired and uncomfortable, trying not to breath deeply and rip the freshly-sewn stitches in his abdomen. He shifted slightly and winced as dull pain radiated from his stomach.

"Son of a bitch," he muttered.

"Well, stop moving," Linda said, frowning a little as she sat on the edge of the bed beside Jimmy. She had changed back into her civilian clothes, her blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail, with her glasses pushed up on her nose; her expression softened, and she sighed. "Sorry."

"Yeah, so am I," Jimmy replied as he slowly leaned back. He felt his

hospital gown riding up his legs and his cheeks grew warm as he discreetly tried tugging the flimsy garment down, thankful for the sheets covering his lower half.

"You really shouldn't move around too much," James said as he leaned against the wall near the closed door. "You don't want to open your stitches."

"Oh, so now you give a damn about me?" Jimmy spat as he glared up at his father.

"Jimmy, please calm down," Linda said gently.

"I never stopped caring about you," James said calmly, "or your mother."

"Don't you **dare** bring her into this," Jimmy warned, sitting up straight. "You abandoned us!"

"Jimmy, please," Linda said, putting a hand on his shoulder, trying to keep him from getting up.

"I didn't have a choice, Jimmy!" James replied, his voice raising. "They were going to kill you and your mother!" Both Jimmy and Linda stared at James, stunned; whatever they expected to hear from James, that clearly hadn't been it.

"What do you mean?" Jimmy asked softly, after a few moments of silence. James glanced between the teenagers, and Linda knew he was contemplating how much to actually tell them; she frowned at him.

"Given the circumstances, Mr. Olsen," the young girl said, "I would really suggest you be honest; you, at least, owe Jimmy **that**."

James raised an eyebrow, the corners of his mouth curling ever so slightly; he took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I work for the American Security Agency," he replied. "It's, uh, a branch of the government dedicated to handling national and international matters designed to be 'off the record.'"

"You're a spy?" Jimmy asked in disbelief.

"Afraid so," James replied.

"How long?" Jimmy asked.

"I was recruited the day I had to leave you and your mother," James

answered. "Do you remember the job I had been offered that day?"

"It was for the Bialyan Embassy," Jimmy replied without missing a beat. "The Prime Minister, Rumaan Harjavti, wanted the embassy's piano tuned for an upcoming event." His expression shifted as he reminisced. "You told me

that job would give us what we needed to really get your business going…and us out of Suicide Slums."

James nodded, his eyes flashing briefly with sadness. "Well," he replied, "turned out, Harjavti was secretly a terrorist sponsor for his country, using the embassy to channel black market weapons. The ASA had been gathering intel for months in order to implicate him, and when he realized that, he decided to get a patsy to take the heat off of him—and figured a

nobody piano tuner with his own business would be perfect." He chuckled mirthlessly. "Harjavti was considerate enough to fill me in on everything as his men held me at gunpoint."

"How did you escape?" Linda asked.

"Turned out one of Harjavti's men was a plant by the ASA," Jack explained. "His name was Eric Blairman, one of the agency's best operatives, and I saw it firsthand that day: Blairman managed to kill all but one of Harjavti's men, who had escaped and was coming to the apartment to kill you and your

mother—and he almost succeeded." He tilted his head. "Do you remember what happened?"

"Bits and pieces," Jimmy said softly. "Mom, uh…was out of town, visiting a friend; you'd gotten a babysitter to watch me while you were gone—don't remember much about her; I know I asked her to make mac and cheese for me."

"Your favorite," James replied, smiling slightly. "You also had a bit of a crush on her; said she looked like an angel." He took a deep breath, his smile fading. "Harjavti's man managed to get into the apartment before Blairman and I could get to him."

"I remember that," Jimmy said. "He broke in—I thought he was a burglar—and the babysitter got me out of the apartment, told me to go to the neighbor's. I heard noises and shouting, and I tried to get back in to help her, but the door wouldn't open, so I ran to Mrs. Reynold's apartment, told her what was going on, and she called the police." He shook his head. "The babysitter never came back…and I never saw her again." He furrowed his eyebrows, frustrated. "I can't even remember her name." He

looked up at his father. "Did he kill her?"

"When Blairman and I arrived in the apartment," James explained, "the place had been ransacked—cracks in the walls, furniture broken—and the man was unconscious in the middle of the living room. Your babysitter hadn't been killed it, but she was gone; I spent years looking for her, but I never found out who she was."

"You think she was she a spy, too?" Jimmy asked softly.

James shook his head. "No," he replied, "but she very brave, even though I'm sure she was scared to death." He shrugged slightly. "I just wish I'd gotten the opportunity to show my appreciation." He took a deep breath. "Anyway, I helped Blairman get the man out of the apartment before the police arrived and handed the guy over to the ASA, while the police filed the whole incident as an attempted home invasion."

"Why couldn't you just come back after that?" Jimmy asked.

"Because it would have put you and your mother at risk," James answered. "Word would've gotten, and other people might've tried to come after me—and my family; the only way for you two to stay safe was to stay away, so I did the only thing possible: I became a spy, spent the next nine years working

to keep our country—and my family—safe."

"You expect me to believe that?" Jimmy asked after a few moments of silence; he turned and looked at his father, his eyes bright, his face

contorted. "You don't show your face for nine years, and all of a sudden you reappear, saying the reason you left us in the first place was because you're a spy?" He shook his head. "You must think I'm an idiot."

"Jimmy, you're one of the smartest people I know," James replied calmly, "and I know how crazy all of this sounds, but I swear it's the truth."

"Even if what you say is true," Jimmy continued, "how the hell am I supposed to believe you? You just admitted you're a spy; spies lie.."

"But he's not," Linda replied. Jimmy glanced over at Linda, confused, but then he saw the expression her face as she stared at his father, and he understood what what it meant. "Not about this…he's telling the truth." Jimmy looked back at his father, who tried to appear as unassuming as possible as he stared right back at Linda, smiled slightly. "What?"

"You just confirmed what I've suspected since November," James said. "Some kind of enhanced mental abilities; that's why Schott believed he'd fought

your cousin instead of you."

"How do you know about that?" Jimmy asked, "and how do you know about Linda in the first place—and Clark, for that matter?"

"It started three years years ago," James explained. "During one of my assignments, I learned about a covert military group that 'studied'

meta-humans. It was run by a corrupt and ruthless individual named General Wade Eiling. The more I learned, the less I liked, so I kept a close eye on him and the group, which turned out to be a good thing: a year later, Superman made his first public appearance. Eiling believed Superman and all extra-terrestrials were a threat to Earth's safety, just like the meta-humans he'd been studying, so he made it his mission to find out

everything he could, especially any weaknesses."

"How much does he know?" Linda asked nervously.

"Not as much as he'd like," James reassured. "For some reason, his server seems to glitch every time data is added to Superman's file, so he's having a hard time making connections—and he's **really** pissed he keeps losing all the data connected to the Girl of Metropolis." Jimmy and Linda saw the twinkle in his eyes.

"As for Superman's identity," James continued, "well, he has a close relationship with the Daily Planet and the people who worked there—including my son. With the information I'd intercepted over the months since his arrival, it wasn't hard to determine that Superman and Clark Kent were actually one in the same person."

"And me?" Linda asked.

"Well, when I heard about the Girl of Metropolis," James answered, "I

figured Clark knew something—and I knew Eiling would also be interested—so I did a little digging, connected a few dots. When I finally saw your picture, I knew I'd found you, and I vowed to give you the same protection I was giving Clark." He shrugged. "I figured since I couldn't be a part of my son's life, the least I could do was help protect his friends," Linda gave him a grateful expression, but James raised an eyebrow, "although, it is a little difficult to do that when one doesn't heed my words." Linda looked confused. "'Strength means nothing if you lack common sense.'" Linda's eyes slowly widened, and Jimmy noticed.

"What is it?" the photographer asked, worried.

James glanced at his son before looking back at Linda. "You didn't tell him," he stated.

"Tell me what?" Jimmy asked, frustrated.

"You asked how I knew about the incident with Schott," James answered. "I knew, because—"

"Because you were there," Jimmy said slowly as the realization hit. James nodded. "That was your voice I heard after Linda got shot, wasn't it?"

"And I was also the one who cleared up any evidence connected to you or Linda," James replied, glancing at the young girl, "including Linda's jacket; I attached a cautionary message, but it appears to have been both disregarded and undisclosed."

Jimmy looked at Linda, who looked as if she'd been caught with her hand in the cookie jar. "Why didn't you tell me?" he asked.

"We were kind of not speaking to each other at the time," Linda answered.

"And after we were?" Jimmy asked.

"I forgot, okay?" Linda replied. "I honestly didn't think it was something to worry about—and I got distracted with other things—so it just…slipped my mind."

"Yeah, I'm sure that'll go over well with your family," Jimmy muttered, folding his arms. He paused for a few moments, then he looked back at his father. "Wait a minute. How did you know Linda and I were going to be at that warehouse? For that matter, how did you know I was friends with Linda and Clark in the first place?" James opened his mouth, but Jimmy stopped him. "Have you been spying on **me**?"

"Not spying," James replied. "More like…surveillance."

"I'm your son," Jimmy all but shouted. "Did I really mean that little to you?"

"No," James answered, his expression serious. "It was because of how much you meant to me that I did it." Jimmy didn't look convinced, and James sighed. "Jimmy, it killed me that I had to leave you and your mother the way I did, and I worried every single day about both of you."

"So, instead of letting your wife and kid know you weren't a deadbeat asshole," Jimmy asked, frowning, "you just lurked in the shadows for nine years, letting the two of us go on hating you?"

"No," Linda said softly, staring at James in disbelief, "just you."

James closed her eyes and sighed. "Miss Kent," he replied, "just because you can read minds doesn't always mean you should." He looked over at his son. "Jimmy, I can explain."

"How long did Mom know?" Jimmy asked, his face full of anger, his eyes bright with tears.

James took a deep breath. "Eight years," he replied.

"So, you trusted her with your secret," Jimmy said, "but you couldn't trust your own son?"

"You were too young to fully understand what was going on," James explained, "and too angry to properly deal with it in the way I needed you," he paused briefly, "and the more time that went by, the angrier your mother and I saw you become, so we agreed to tell you when we felt you were able to handle it."

"Well, I'm so sorry your plans got ruined," Jimmy replied sarcastically. James opened his mouth, but Jimmy shook his head. "Could you please leave my room? I don't want to see you right now."

James tried to keep a neutral expression, but Linda caught the pain that washed over his eyes. "I'll be outside if you need me," he replied quietly before leaving the room, closing the door behind him.

Linda glanced at Jimmy, who appeared embarrassed as he wiped his eyes. "Are you okay?" she asked softly.

"No," Jimmy replied, his voice wavering slightly; he cleared his throat.

Linda could feel the multitude of emotions radiating off him like heat from an oven, and her heart wrenched. "Jimmy, I know you're really upset right now, but—"

"Don't tell me you're defending what they did," Jimmy said incredulously.

"I'm not," Linda replied. "I understand where you're coming from. You know how I felt when I found out Rok-Var implanted those false memories into my mind: I was so angry because of all the problems it caused. J'onn asked me to try and see things from Rok-Var's perspective, which wasn't easy, but I did: I had witnessed something…horrible…and it was tearing me apart; Rok-Var wouldn't have done what he did unless he felt it was necessary."

"My parents lied to me for nine years," Jimmy pointed out. "I'm their son, and they couldn't even tell me the truth." He sighed, dropping his voice. "Makes me wonder if they ever really care about me at all."

"They do," Linda replied. "Your father was being sincere when he said it killed him having to watch you grow up from a distance—I felt it; I also 'saw' how much your mother had been affected by having to keep this a secret." She shrugged. "It certainly explained why she seemed so high-strung at times."

"I don't know how I can ever trust them again," Jimmy said softly. "They both lied to me."

"At least they didn't try to kill you," Linda whispered.

Jimmy looked over and saw the sad expression on Linda's face; he sighed. "I'm sorry," he said.

"Don't be," Linda replied. "You have every right to feel angry and hurt by what happened, but your parents—regardless of what they did—have always loved you; mine never did."

Jimmy heard the envy in her voice and reached over, taking her hand. "I can't promise anything," he said, "but I'll try."

"And I'll help anyway I can," Linda replied, smiling sadly. Her hearing picked up familiar voices, and she tilted her head slightly, listening.

" _What was she thinking_?" Jonathan asked, his voice laced with a collective anger. " _What were they both thinking_?"

" _We'll find out soon enough_ ," Clark replied.

" _Clark, are you sure there was a monster involved_?" Martha asked.

Linda swallowed nervously as she switched back to her normal hearing. "And speaking of family," she said, trying to sound calm, "mine's almost here."

Jimmy groaned softly. "This is going to be fun," he muttered.

"Tell me about it," Linda replied.

(End of Chapter 13)


	14. Chapter 14

Dabney Donovan sat at his desk, hunched over a stack of papers, scribbling furiously; he had a three day's growth of stubble on his face, and his rumpled clothes gave off a distinctive odor, his bloodshot eyes wide with sleep deprivation. His office door abruptly swung open, hitting the wall with such force that the scientist jumped out of his seat, nearly falling to the floor, scattering papers; heart pounding, he turned around to find Lex standing just inside the doorway, his expression hard.

"What the hell happened?" he demanded, walking in and slamming the door shut.

"Nothing that I couldn't handle," Donavan replied as he straightened up and gathered his papers, "and the cleanup crew managed to get anything linked back to us removed before the police showed up."

"Everything but the video feed," Lex remarked. "My source at the S.C.U. says there was evidence of a small EMP that fried every single piece of electrical equipment in the area; we lost all the video."

"Not all of it," Dabney pointed out. "You did witness the competitions from earlier today before everything was erased," he raised an eyebrow, "and you positively identified the photographer." The corners of his mouth curled slightly. "I'm sure you could make it look like an untraceable accident."

"Donovan," Lex said, "if I wanted Olsen—or Kent or Lane or anyone else associated with the Daily Planet—dead, I could arrange it."

"Then why don't you?" Donovan asked. "They've been thorns in your side longer than Superman has."

"Because for all the things Superman is," Lex replied, "stupid is not one of them; he'd know I was involved—and right now, I'm having my hands full keeping him at bay as it is with this situation."

"You don't think he'll find out our involvement," Donovan asked, "or what we're actually up to?"

"No," Lex replied. "Armstrong was expendable, and his connection to us is nonexistent."

"Then what?" Donavan pressed.

"I read the report of what the cleanup found," Lex replied, "plus I visited the lab and saw what was left of your…creature; came to some interesting conclusions: the red-haired girl you mentioned exhibited an impressive amount of speed and agility. In addition, the six security cameras at the entrance of the creature's corridor had all been melted, plus your monster is dead, and we both know only someone with strength, speed, and extensive fighting skills would have been able to accomplish that."

Donovan appeared confused, then the realization suddenly hit the scientist. "The Girl of Metropolis," he said. "It was her, wasn't it?"

"It certainly wasn't Wonder Woman," Lex replied.

"I want her," Donovan said. "Imagine what I'd accomplish with her genetic material—I could finally continue the experiments I started with the one last year."

"Eiling will assist you," Lex replied. He saw Donovan's face darken slightly. "Is there a problem?"

"Eiling deals with meta-humans," Donovan answered, "my research deals with a variety of genetics—terrestrial and otherwise."

"You work DNA the way Gordon Ramsey works Beef Wellington," Lex replied. "Eiling's just eager to see your personal _Hell's Kitchen_ and assess any potential military applications. Besides, your other experiments are still who-knows-where; maybe I should let Eiling be in charge of rounding them up."

"No," Donovan said, holding his temper in check, "I have it under control." He paused taking deep breath. "And if I'm working with Eiling, I still want the girl; if she's truly Kryptonian, the applications could be limitless."

"In good time," Lex replied as he opened the door. "I have other plans that take precedence over yours." He glanced over his shoulder and saw the disappointment wash over the scientist's eyes. "Don't worry, Donovan, after I'm through playing with her, you're more than welcome to whatever's left over." He wordlessly left the office, closing the door behind him.

* * *

Linda leaned against the open loft window, staring up at the twinkling stars blinking in the clear night sky, thinking about the events that had followed after the Kents' arrival. To say the adults were surprised would have been an understatement, and after they had processed everything, Jonathan and Martha felt it best to get Linda home; Clark had promised to stay with Jimmy and his father until Sarah Olsen could be there.

The three-hour drive home had been torturous for the young girl—Jonathan and Martha didn't say a single word the entire trip, and Linda hadn't dared use her telepathy—but as soon as the three of them had arrived home, the Kents broke the silence in the kitchen as they all but laid into her about everything. By the time they had finished, Linda felt being trapped in a room with kryptonite would have been less painful and made a quick getaway to her loft.

"Hey, Short Stack."

Linda glanced over and saw Clark approaching from the stairs; he had changed from his suit into jeans and a flannel shirt. "Hey, Clark," she said, a little surprised; she hadn't heard him arrive. "When did you get here?"

"About an hour ago," Clark answered. "I, would've been up sooner, but, uh, I talked with Mom and Dad."

Linda winced a little. "Are they still mad?" she asked.

"Not as much as they could be, believe me," Clark replied, "but they are pretty upset. They were actually pretty concerned by what you said you did to the monster."

"I tried to stop it without killing it," Linda said, "but it wouldn't stop, and I didn't want it to kill anyone else."

"I know," Clark reassured, "and Mom and Dad understand that Rok-Var taught you to fight to keep you safe, but they just worry about you."

"I know I screwed up," Linda said, trying not to look too upset, "but—"

"No, you didn't," Clark interrupted gently, putting his hands on her shoulder. "You made some bad decisions, but you didn't screw up. And if you hadn't stopped that monster, there's no telling how many people it could've killed. To be honest, I think we're all just concerned about who was running everything…and Mom and Dad are still reeling by Jimmy's father showing up."

"The way Dad looked at the hospital," Linda said, "I thought he was going to actually **hit** Mr. Olsen…even though I know he wouldn't." She paused. "So, I guess you heard I'm grounded, huh?"

"Yeah, Dad said something about making sure to pay back Oliver every cent you spent at Wonder Con," Clark smiled slightly, "and that you are grounded 'until the end of time.' I managed to talk him down to two weeks."

"Why would you do that?" Linda asked, baffled. "Last time we talked, I wasn't exactly nice to you."

"Yeah, well, I think I take the blame for that," Clark replied. Linda raised an eyebrow, confused. "Jimmy and I did a lot of talking before his mom showed up—well, actually, I did most of the talking," he shrugged, "well, apologizing." He paused. "I told him I was sorry for how I've been treating him since your birthday. I said I thought it was because of what nearly happened between you two, but—if I was being honest with myself—I was also mad that he 'ruined' your first birthday on Earth."

"But he didn't know," Linda replied. "How could you blame him for something he didn't even know about?"

"I never said it was rational," Clark retorted out before sighing. "A lot of the blame is on me for not mentioning red kryptonite existed in the first place, but I didn't want to admit it. I guess, when it comes to you, I haven't always been a rational thinker; Bruce says that's a big flaw of mine."

"Bruce is quick to point out everyone's flaws," Linda said, "except his own." She opened her mouth before pausing. "How's Jimmy doing?"

"Well, he's pretty shell-shocked and hurt with what he learned about his parents," Clark answered, "but I honestly think he's going to be okay; it's just going to take time."

"I hope so," Linda replied.

"And I also talked to Mom and Dad about you and Jimmy being able to talk if he needs to; they said that would be fine with them."

Linda gave her cousin a grateful look as she hugged him. "Thank you," she whispered.

"No problem," Clark replied as he hugged her back.

"So," Linda said after they pulled apart, "have you found out anything about what's really going on—or what happened to the monster?"

"No," Clark replied, and he stopped Linda when she opened her mouth, "and I don't want you to get involved. From what you said you overheard and saw on Armstrong's desk, whatever was going on down there is connected to Cadmus, and I don't want you anywhere **near** that place again; I'll look into it, and you'll stay inconspicuous."

"I melted the cameras and telekinetically shorted out the recording devices," Linda pointed out, "and anyone who saw me only saw a red-haired girl with pointy ears." Clark gave her a look, and she sighed, rolling her eyes. "Fine, fine, I'll stay out of it."

"Thank you," Clark replied, smiling. "So, do I finally get the details on Friday night?"

"Nope," Linda said cheerfully, "I am allowed to keep **some** things a secret." Clark pretended to appear affronted, but he put his arm around his cousin as the two of them stood and stared up at the night sky in silence.

* * *

Jayson Potter was alone in his office, putting the last of his papers in his attaché; he had just finished grading the last of his class's assignment and was ready to go home and get a few hours of sleep. He grabbed his keys near the desk lamp and stood straight—and stopped when he saw the dark figure standing just in the door.

"Have you seen the news this evening?" the figure asked, his voice low and deadly.

"No, but seeing how you're here," Jayson said, unfazed, "I'm guessing that Linda was involved."

"I told you to keep an eye on her," the figure replied.

"I told you I don't do weekends," Jayson said, "especially with the Martian hanging around."

The figure narrowed his eyes. "Your particular…talents are more than a match for the Martian; you could could take down the entire League without batting an eye, if you wanted." The figure's eyes flashed briefly. "Don't stand there and sanctimoniously lecture me about caution when I hired you to do a job."

"And don't threaten me," Jayson warned. "If you don't like my methods, you're more than welcome to do it yourself, but we both know that won't happen." The figure stared at him but remained silent, and Jayson almost smirked. "Now, if you don't mind, I'm going home." Holding his attaché, he walked out of the office, brushing past the figure and heading down the hall without looking back.

THE END


End file.
